


Sole

by oneletterdiff



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (for most characters), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Background Ferdinand von Aegir & Hilda Valentine Goneril, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions/Golden Deer Joint Route, Mentioned Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Mentioned Hubert von Vestra/Bernadetta von Varley, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaidded/Byleth Eisner, Minor Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Minor Lysithea von Ordelia/Leonie Pinelli, Multi, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Multiple, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Vignettes, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 27,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25909432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneletterdiff/pseuds/oneletterdiff
Summary: It's taboo to let anyone see your feet, where fate bestows two names: the person who will become your truest love and the person who will become your bitterest enemy. No one ever really knows which one will be which until their lives unfold, which it makes the political games of Fódlan that much more difficult to navigate.[A non-chronological series of vignettes. Multiple ships. Tags to be updated.]
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 173
Kudos: 96





	1. Prologue: Khalid

Going barefoot is strictly prohibited in Fódlan. It’s considered a social faux pas of the highest severity to let anyone see the divine blessings on your feet. Khalid hates it. It is a far cry from the Almyran way of living fast and free, with no shame or secrets surrounding the identities of those destined to be your truest love and your bitterest enemy. Perhaps it would be less taboo in Fòdlan, with its endless contrived political games, were there any way of distinguishing between which name denoted your love and which your enemy, but no one ever really knew which was which until their lives unfolded. Fate has a sense of humor, it seems.

When Khalid is seventeen, he is summoned to House Riegan. The land and culture are unfamiliar to him, but with the passing of his unknown uncle, he is to be named heir. When he leaves the Almyran Palace, his mother sends him off with a kiss to the top of his head and reminder that once he arrives in Fódlan to never leave his feet uncovered. “No one must ever see the names on your feet,” she tells him. “It would be unspeakably rude.”

And though he doesn’t really understand the reasoning behind it, Khalid is careful to adhere to the Fòdlan custom of hiding his feet once he crosses the border. He knows it’s probably meaningful that both of the names on the soles of his feet are of Fódlan origin. There had been quite a stir on his thirteenth birthday when the names had appeared and neither were Almyran. _Mama must’ve known then,_ realizes Khalid, _that I was destined to go to her homeland sooner or later._

His new life in Riegan is different, but Khalid rises to the challenge. At his grandfather’s firm insistence, he takes on a traditional Fódlan name. Looking for something that sounds close enough to Khalid that it won’t be too hard to get used to answering to it, he decides on the name Claude. _Claude von Riegan... it has a nice enough ring_ , he muses, and wonders which version of his name appears on the feet of his truest love and bitterest enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of having marks denoting your soulmate and your biggest enemy (and not knowing which is which) was shamelessly stolen from [Left Hand Path](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203152) by eyegnats. It's an emotionally powerful oneshot - give it a read!


	2. Chapter 1: Felix

Felix is afraid to look at his feet the day of his thirteenth birthday. What if he doesn’t recognize either of the names? What if _does_ recognize them? Three years earlier when Glenn had turned thirteen, their family had blessedly discovered the name _Ingrid Brandl Galatea_ emblazoned on one foot. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know the man’s name on his other foot, because Ingrid’s name was proof that Glenn was already betrothed to his truest love.

 _Glenn always was the golden child_ , thinks Felix as he tries to muster the courage to examine the soles of his feet. He can only hope that like his older brother, his destiny will be to love a noble lady of a situatable status. _And if my bitterest enemy is revealed to be some unknown yahoo like Glenn’s, well, that would be good too._

When he finally looks at his left foot, Felix is relieved to see the name _Edelgard von Hresvelg_. While the name Edelgard is meaningless to him, the Hresvelgs are the imperial family of Adrestia. _That could be a very good match, even better than Glenn’s engagement to Ingrid._ Pleased at the prospect, Felix lifts his right foot to reveal the name of his enemy:

_Annette Fantine Dominic._

A chill runs down his spine. He’s never met the girl, but he knows her name because her father is one of the royal knights. Felix tries to remember what he’s heard Sir Gustave say about his daughter. What on earth could cause her to become his bitterest enemy? Then a different thought occurs to him. _If the Dominic girl is my love instead, what does it mean that my enemy will be a member of the Adrestian Emperor’s family?_ For the first time, Felix understands why everyone hides their feet.

Running to his dresser, Felix hurriedly pulls on a pair of socks before leaving his bedroom to find Glenn. Knowing him, his older brother will likely be training in the knight’s hall. A year ago, Glenn had been named a royal knight, even though he was only fifteen. He had been working towards knighthood since their family moved to Fhirdiad, where they live in the wing of the royal castle reserved for the king’s closest advisors. While Glenn was pushed towards the knights, Felix had been urged to make friends with Prince Dimitri, as they were of age with each other. After all, the Fraldarius family has always served the Blaiddyds.

When Felix enters the training grounds, he waves off the birthday well wishes from the various knights—he can’t bring himself to so much as look in the direction of Sir Gustave—and makes a beeline for Glenn. “Can we talk?” he asks his older brother.

“Can’t this wait until your party?” Glenn asks. “I’m in the middle of training.”

“No, it can’t wait. I need to talk to you now,” insists Felix. The revelation of his solenames has shaken him to the core, but Glenn will know what to do. He’s always been the golden child.

Glenn frowns, but makes his excuses to his fellow knights and follows Felix outside. “What’s going on, Felix?” he asks. “What’s so urgent that it can’t wait?”

Felix swallows thickly. He looks around to make sure no one else is in earshot before confessing, “It’s about the names on my feet.”

“What about them?” asks Glenn calmly.

“One of them is a Hresvelg. What are the political implications of that, if she’s my enemy?”

Glenn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “A Hresvelg? Wow.” His tone is altogether too nonchalant for Felix’s liking. “Well, she could be your love, couldn’t she? What’s the other name?”

“The other name is Gustave Dominic’s daughter!” Felix hisses in a panicked whisper.

“Oh. That’s... not good,” says Glenn slowly. He thinks about it for a second, then shrugs. “Maybe you break her heart and she hates you forever because of it. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, Felix. I don’t know what you want _me_ to do. I’ve got to get back to training anyways. Look, I’ll see you at your birthday party this afternoon, okay?”

Felix is disgusted by how useless talking to his brother has been.

That afternoon, Felix is still in a nervous mood when his friends arrive for his birthday party. Only Ingrid seems to notice. While Dimitri and Sylvain roughhouse around with Glenn, she nudges Felix and asks in a whisper, “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” says Felix. He sounds unconvincing even to his own ears.

Ingrid gives him a knowing look. “Is this about your solenames?” she asks.

Felix flinches. “How could you tell?”

“It’s your thirteenth birthday,” explains Ingrid. “It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

“I don’t remember any of you being glum on your thirteenth birthdays,” Felix counters. He’s the youngest of their friend group. Ingrid had turned thirteen a month ago, and Dimitri another month before her, while Sylvain, at fifteen, is closer to Glenn’s age.

Looking determinedly at the wall beyond Felix’s shoulder, Ingrid says, “Just because you didn’t notice, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t glum.”

“You?” Felix wants to laugh. “What would _you_ have to be glum about? You’re already engaged to Glenn, and he has your name, so—”

“I know he does!” snaps Ingrid, interrupting his bitter tirade. “He’s told me. But...” Her voice drops to the quietest whisper. “Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t have his name?”

Felix blinks at her in shock. “What?” he asks numbly. “What does that mean?”

Ingrid looks miserable, and Felix regrets his earlier outburst. “Mother and Father told me not to tell anyone about this, but Glenn’s name isn’t on either of my feet,” she admits. “I don’t know why. I don’t know what it means.”

Three months later, Glenn accompanies the royal family on their diplomatic trip to Duscur, and Felix and Ingrid find out exactly what it means.


	3. Chapter 2: Hilda

Hilda often wonders if Ferdinand knows that they are destined to be each other’s truest love. She knows that not everyone has an easy time of telling which of their solenames will be their love and which their enemy, but for Hilda, it’s simple. Ferdinand’s name is on her right foot, and the name on her left foot is Almyran. She’s a member of House Goneril, sworn to hold Fódlan’s Throat against the Almyrans; there’s no way the big love of her life could be from Almyra. That’s how she knows she’ll fall in love with Ferdinand von Aegir.

But maybe the distinction between the two names on his feet isn’t as easy. Sometimes Hilda catches him watching her. _It makes sense,_ she reminds herself. _He’s trying to figure out if I’m going to be his love or his enemy._ _Would it be rude for me to tell him that I know we’ll be lovers?_

It happens the night of the ball. Hilda is dressed in her finest gown, her hair and makeup done impeccably, and when she sees Ferdinand at the base of the Goddess Tower, it feels too romantic for her to hold back any longer.

“Ferdinand!” she beckons, tilting her head at him in an enticing manner. She has had, perhaps, more than her fair share of the mead served at the ball. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

Ever the picture-perfect noble, Ferdinand heeds her call. “You look lovely, Hilda. To what do I owe the honor?” he asks.

Hilda smiles and lays her hand on Ferdinand’s arm. “I wanted to talk to you about the fact that you have my name written on your sole,” she says boldly.

“Ah.” Ferdinand flushes. “Yes. I didn’t think it polite to bring up, because I don't know which—”

“But I do,” interrupts Hilda. She steps closer to him. “I’ve known since I was thirteen that you were destined to be my truest love.”

Ferdinand’s cheeks get pinker. “How can you be sure?” he asks breathlessly.

Hilda moves her hand up his arm, holding him the barest hint of an embrace. “The name on my other foot is _Almyran_ ,” she says derisively. “As if I could ever be anything other than enemies with someone from Almyra. What about you? Who’s your other sole name?”

“It’s...” Ferdinand looks embarrassed. He ducks his head to whisper it in her ear: “Edelgard.”

“Oh! Well, that’s a good sign, isn’t it? You already know that as the future Prime Minister of Adrestia, it’ll be your duty to help keep your emperor on the right path. If that’s the biggest clash that fate has spelled out for you, you’ll surely have an easy life,” reasons Hilda.

Ferdinand smiles. “You have a good point,” he concedes.

Hilda tilts her face up at him. “I think you should kiss me,” she tells him in a sultry whisper.

“Another good point,” murmurs Ferdinand. He takes Hilda in his arms and leans down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

They spend the next month in a whirlwind courtship. Even as things get tenser around Garreg Mach— Captain Jeralt dies and the new professor becomes some sort of demigod—Hilda and Ferdinand find time for each other. Hilda makes him a special clasp for his cloak. “So you can always wear my love close to your heart,” she tells him with a wink. And Ferdinand gifts her his most cherished teapot. It’s all so perfectly romantic that Hilda could swoon.

Then everything falls apart. Shortly after Hilda turns eighteen, the Golden Deer accompany Professor Byleth and Lady Rhea into the Holy Tomb for some mysterious ritual and emerge with a declaration of war. Edelgard announces her intention to storm Garreg Mach with the imperial army of Adrestia. As expected, Hubert sides with her, but the rest of the Black Eagles are left in limbo.

“Ferdinand, what are you going to do?” asks Hilda. She is frightened in a way that she is not familiar with. The impending battle at the end of the month threatens to tear away her future in a way that all of the previous fights she’s been in haven’t.

Ferdinand adjusts his cloak, his fingers brushing tenderly over the clasp she made him, and gives her a strained smile. “I don’t know,” he tells her. “I just want to focus on living through this invasion. I’ll figure it out afterwards.”

They narrowly scrape by in the battle for Garreg Mach. Although they are successful in repelling Edelgard’s forces, the losses are heavy. Lady Rhea and Professor Byleth both disappear, and large swathes of the monastery and surrounding town lie in ruin. Standing in the crumbling remains of her schooling, Hilda watches the way everyone picks themselves up. The Blue Lions are predictably tightly knit, with Dedue and Ingrid closing ranks around their clearly deranged prince while Sylvain coordinates their journey back to Faerghus. Even the remaining Black Eagle students do what they can to support each other, bonded by their shared trauma of having just fought against the army of their homeland. But the Golden Deer house has always lacked cohesion: Raphael and Ignatz sit together, but Leonie recuperates with the Knights of Seiros, while Marianne uses the last of her magical energy to heal Lorenz, and Claude comforts Lysithea in a far-off corner.

Hilda wanders over to find Ferdinand. He is catching his breath, slumped on a bench in the dining hall with the other Black Eagles. Hilda squeezes herself in between Ferdinand and Linhardt. She listens to Caspar loudly try to decide where he will go after this. _Everything has become such a mess._ Grabbing Ferdinand’s hand, Hilda guides him away from the table, so they can sit together outside of the dining hall in some semblance of privacy.

“Come home with me to Goneril,” Hilda tells him. “My family will like you, I know they will.”

Ferdinand meets her imploring gaze, and with a small, sad smile, he shakes his head. “I can't do that, Hilda,” he says. “I’m a von Aegir. I cannot abandon Adrestia.”

“Even after what Edelgard just did?” demands Hilda. She can feel herself starting to get angry. “You already know she’s going to be your enemy! She’s imprisoned your father! How can you return to the Empire?”

“I have to. Edelgard has... gone astray, but it is my duty to set her back on the right course,” Ferdinand replies. He squeezes Hilda’s hand tightly. “You could come with me?” he asks hopefully, but Hilda is already shaking her head.

“I could never ally myself with what Edelgard’s done,” she says and tugs her hand out of Ferdinand’s grasp. “How could you even ask that of me? I nearly _died_ today because of her.”

Ferdinand looks unhappy. “I’m sorry, Hilda,” he says quietly, then stands up. He leans down to press a kiss to top of her head. “I guess this is good-bye, then.”

Shattered, Hilda can only sit there and watch silently as Ferdinand walks away. A feeling of profound loss washes over her as she tries to wrap her head around the sudden disappearance of a future she had once thought so certain. She is still sitting there in shock when Claude finds her.

“You okay, Hil?” he asks, settling down next to her in the spot vacated by Ferdinand.

Hilda blinks rapidly. She tries to make herself smile but can’t seem to get her facial muscles to work right. “Ferdinand’s going back to Adrestia,” she tells him, her voice cracking with sadness.

Claude’s face pinches, then he holds out his hand. “We’re figuring out transportation to Leicester,” he says. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”


	4. Chapter 3: Ashe

Ashe has long wondered about the names of his feet, but because he turned thirteen in the shadow of Christophe’s execution, he’s never had the chance to discuss it with his adoptive father. Still, he wonders about the names. One of the names is a single moniker, _Thales_ , which feels heavy with mystery. The other, a noble name.

He spends months obsessing over his solenames. Which one will be his enemy? Which will be his love? He knows that a noble lady would be hopelessly beyond his station, but from the novels Ashe had voraciously devoured since Lonato taught how him to read, he’s learned about courtly love, where a knight and a noble lady can love each other. They can never really be together, but their love is pure and honorable and beautiful, and Ashe thinks, _I could do that. I could be a knight._

When he is fifteen, Lonato sends him to Garreg Mach Monastery to attend the Officers Academy. It’s a huge honor for someone born so low, Ashe knows. He spends the entire journey to Garreg Mach practicing how he will address his various noble classmates. _Maybe one of them will know the lady whose name graces my left foot._ Ashe wonders if there’s a way he could find out without breaking the taboo of talking about your solenames.

On his arrival at the monastery, Ashe is welcomed by his house leader, who is no one less than the Crown Prince of Faerghus. Ashe scrambles to bow. “Th-thank you, Your Highness,” he stammers out, eyes fixed respectfully on the ground.

But Dimitri just laughs. “None of that, please,” he tells Ashe. “I am a student here just as you are. Please, treat me like an equal.”

 _Impossible!_ Ashe thinks but he manages to raise his eyes to meet Dimitri’s gaze and is pleasantly surprised to find kindness there. “I will try, Your Highness,” he says earnestly.

“Come and meet the other Blue Lions. Now that you’ve arrived, we’re all here,” says Dimitri, gesturing for Ashe to follow him to further into the heart of Garreg Mach. As they walk, Dimitri tells Ashe about the other six students in the house. “Dedue Molinaro, my companion, hails from Duscur. He’s quiet but a good sort. And Mercedes von Martritz is originally from the Empire, but she’s been living in Fhirdiad since she was ten. She’s the sweetest lady you’ll ever meet. She used to go to the School of Sorcery, as did Annette. She’s the niece of the Baron of Dominic.”

Already struggling to keep track of all the names, Ashe just nods. He notes the soft affection in the prince’s voice as he speaks of their classmates. Ashe looks forward to making friends with everyone mentioned.

“Felix Fraldarius is childhood friend of mine, but I must warn you: he can be rather badly tempered, so don’t take anything he says personally,” Dimitri goes on. “On the flipside, Sylvain Gautier is sometimes _too_ friendly, especially with the ladies, if you know what I mean. They’re both kept in line by Ingrid Galatea.”

Ashe’s heart stutters at the final name. He has spent the last two years dreaming about putting a face to that name. _She’s here,_ he thinks, excitement and nerves rising in his stomach. _I’m about to meet someone who will either be my truest lover or bitterest enemy._ He hopes it’s the former. He’s not sure how he would be able to cope with being destined enemies with a classmate.

If he has noticed a change in Ashe’s demeanor, Dimitri doesn’t comment on it. Instead he continues, “Ingrid’s another longtime friend of mine. She’s very talented and chivalrous. More like a knight than most knights you’ll meet.”

“I’ve always admired knights,” says Ashe shyly.

Dimitri grins at him. “You’ll get along great with Ingrid then.”

Ashe tries not to think too hard about that as Dimitri opens the door of a classroom and beckons him in. The other six members of the Blue Lion house are quick to crowd around Ashe, eager to meet him. There are three girls—a redhead, a blonde, and one with pale brown hair—and he wonders which one is Ingrid.

Dimitri does his best to identify everyone for Ashe, but it’s so chaotic that all Ashe is really certain of is that the sullen-faced boy hanging back from the rest is Felix. Dimitri finishes his poor attempt at introductions with, “Everyone, this is Ashe Ubert.”

A loud thump rings out as someone knocks a stack of books off a desk onto the ground. Everyone turns to look at the blonde girl. Her bright green eyes are wide with embarrassment. “Er, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened there,” she tells the group.

One of the boys laughs. “I’d expect that kind of clumsiness from Annette, but not from you, Ingrid,” he teases, earning himself a glare from the redhaired girl and a punch to the shoulder from the blonde, who Ashe has determined to be Ingrid.

He doesn’t know what to say to her, the girl who fate has designated as being important to him, so instead he tells the group, “Um, it’s nice to meet all of you!”

Later, he will run into Ingrid in the library. They will bond over their shared interest in the chivalrous tales of knights, but Ingrid won’t meet Ashe’s probing gaze despite all of his ardent wishing for her to look at him. He will wonder if she’s afraid that they will become enemies. He will wonder about Ingrid’s other solename. He will wonder who Thales is and when they will meet.

But for now, he smiles at his seven new classmates and looks forward to the year ahead.


	5. Chapter 4: Edelgard

Edelgard’s memory of her time in Fhirdiad is hazy at best. She knows that she spent three years under the care of her uncle Volkhard in the capital of Faerghus, and she remembers faintly a friendship with a boy her age. She still carries the dagger he gave her as a going away gift, but beyond that, she couldn’t tell you the first thing about him.

Not long after her uncle brings her back to Enbarr, Edelgard turns thirteen. She quickly decides that she hates both of the names that have appeared on the soles of her feet and takes to wearing stockings everywhere, even to bathe. She does her best to ignore them, but as Uncle Volkhard likes to remind her, both solenames carry heavy political implications. Ferdinand von Aegir is the eldest son of Adrestia’s Prime Minister. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is the crown prince of Faerghus. No matter which one becomes her love and which her enemy, her future will surely be marked by strife.

It gets worse when she goes to the Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastary. Edelgard is seventeen, and within the span of one week she meets both Ferdinand and Dimitri. She still doesn’t know which one will be which. If it weren’t so prohibited to publicly talk about your solenames, she would corner both boys and get to the bottom of what fates holds for them. From the way Dimitri stares at her, Edelgard can tell that he hopes that she will be his love and not his enemy.

 _If I end up at odds with Ferdinand and allied with the prince of Faerghus, does that mean my dream to reform Adrestia will fail?_ wonders Edelgard. _Will I be driven once more from my homeland?_ Hubert, her closest friend and the only person with whom she has shared the details of her solenames with, also has the name of a Blue Lion on one of his feet. Perhaps, they will both end up in Fhirdiad with their future lovers. Or perhaps they will plunge Adrestia into war against Faerghus. _I just wish I knew!_

As the year progresses, Edelgard watches both Dimitri and Ferdinand, and tries to imagine falling in love with either of them. Ferdinand is vexing, always trying to outperform her at every turn. _Could this be enough to count as being my bitterest enemy?_ Edelgard thinks in a moment of petty frustration. _He’s certainly the biggest thorn in my side!_ Dimitri isn’t much more appealing. The blond boy behaves politely enough. The only person who Edelgard ever sees him get annoyed with is the new professor—or occasionally Claude. But his charm feels practiced. Artificial. Edelgard has had enough of superficial kindness for a lifetime.

Her carefully laid plans for the future creep closer to completion, but she hasn’t made any progress on figuring out the difference between her solenames. She has all but resigned herself to not knowing until after she receives the title of Emperor of Adrestia when Ferdinand starts dating Hilda Valentine Goneril. Their courtship is outrageously bold and beyond confident, and everyone knows that they must be true loves.

Edelgard sees guilt written all over Ferdinand’s face when he makes eye contact with her. She purses her lips but doesn’t say anything. _I must have a harder time convincing the Empire to follow me than I thought I would,_ she muses and reconciles herself to the prospect of a second exile in Fhirdiad. She still can’t really picture herself falling in love with Dimitri, but if that’s what fate has determined for her, she will rise to the occasion.

Even as she and Hubert work overtime to pull together the last bits of their plan of action, Edelgard tries to find time to spend with Dimitri. When she first approaches the prince of Faerghus with a friendly smile, he responds in an uncharacteristically bashful manner. In a far cry from the capable house leader Edelgard has observed him to be, Dimitri stumbles over his words to agree with whatever she says. Quite frankly, it’s an exhausting experiment. _I’d rather be challenged by Ferdinand than deal with whatever is going on with Dimitri,_ Edelgard thinks irritably and promptly decides to forget about the whole concept of solenames until she is forced to face them. She throws herself even more ardently into working out how to achieve her dream for Fódlan’s future.

During the Pegasus Moon, Edelgard returns to Enbarr to take control of the Empire. She is met with less resistance than she had anticipated, given the way things have gone with Dimitri and Ferdinand. With the latter in mind, she is harsher in her punishment of Duke Aegir than is perhaps strictly necessary. _His son can join him in prison once I’ve conquered Garreg Mach,_ she decides, feeling a sting of betrayal. It’s annoying.

Unfortunately, her invasion of Garreg Mach doesn’t go quite as planned. The Immaculate One puts in a surprise appearance, and Edelgard is forced to concede the battle to fight another day. If she shaken by it—or by having to face off against both Ferdinand and Dimitri in a single day—she refuses to admit it. Even though she has Hubert by her side, she begins her reign as Emperor of Adrestia feeling unspeakably lonely.


	6. Chapter 5: Claude

His heart sinks when he meets Hilda for the first time. Her name has been etched onto his foot for the past four years, and well, she’s a Goneril. He is from Almyra. He knows what that means. But still, he likes her. Hilda is loud and lazy, and almost as conniving as he is. Of course Claude likes her. _It’s a shame that we’re fated to become enemies,_ he thinks cheerfully.

It is also a shame that Hilda refuses to take her training seriously. She has such natural talent for the axe; Claude sees miles of potential in her, if only she would put in the work! He tries to cajole her into training. No dice. He offers deals, exchanges, but Hilda isn’t interested. “I’m just a delicate flower,” she tells Claude with an exaggerated fluttering of her eyelashes.

 _It’s just as well,_ Claude supposes. _I probably shouldn’t be trying to make my future enemy a better fighter._

Then the new professor arrives.

Byleth Eisner is quiet and thoughtful and tough as nails. Much to Claude’s delight, she picks the Golden Deer as her house to lead. She brings a fresh perspective to their lessons, and most excitingly, she refuses to take “no” for answer. Claude has never seen Hilda so frequently on the training grounds as he has since Professor Byleth started. He loves it.

“Professor Manuela isn’t anywhere near this hard on the Black Eagles,” Hilda whines to him one evening. They’re holed up in the library with Leonie, Ignatz, and Marianne—an impromptu study session for the next day’s quiz on the battle tactics of the Dadga War.

“I hear Professor Manuala also shows up to class hungover at least twice a week,” Claude points out with a wide grin. “Would you want her in charge instead?”

Rolling her eyes, Hilda says, “Well, Professor Hanneman isn’t so tough on Blue Lions either. I don’t understand why Professor Byleth thinks she has to be such a taskmaster with us.”

“It’s funny. I actually thought Professor Byleth was going to choose the Blue Lions at first,” comments Ignatz.

“Really?” asks Leonie, twisting around to fix him with a curious stare. “Why do you say that?”

Ignatz gives a small shrug. “I don’t know, she spent a lot of time talking with Dedue, and she even seemed to like Dimitri,” he says. “But then…”

“Oh, oh! I know what you’re talking about!” says Hilda excitedly. “Dimitri was so rude to her over dinner that one night. I’d never see him behave like that before.”

Vaguely, Claude can remember the incident they’re talking about. The new professor had tried to join some of the Blue Lions for dinner, and Dimitri had told her quite firmly to stay away. Professor Byleth hadn’t seemed offended by it, though Dimitri had caused a scene. “Oh, yeah,” he muses. “What _was_ that about, I wonder.”

Leonie isn’t interested in dwelling on it. “Well, it’s their loss. She’s a great professor, and she knows so much from Captain Jeralt!” she says brightly.

“And she’s making me _work_!” complains Hilda.

Claude leans over to tug on one of her pigtails. “Why do you think I like her so much?” he teases. “She’s finally succeeded where I failed!”

Hilda pouts and gives him her best puppy eyes. “Oh, Claaaaaaaude,” she begins in a singong voice.

“Don’t even try it, sweetheart,” he says. “You know it won’t work on me.”

He knows he should keep her at arm’s length—why bother getting close to someone who he’s destined to hate?—but he can’t help himself. He finds her charming. _If I can’t keep away from her, perhaps it is good to hold her close,_ he thinks, when the professor matches them up as training partners yet again. _Would it not be advantageous to be so familiar with my enemy’s fighting style?_ At least, that’s what he tells himself as he continues to find himself drawn ever closer to Hilda.

Their friendship shifts the night of the ball.

Hilda wears some gossamer gown that clings to her body, emphasizing every curve and every muscle. She looks unbearably beautiful. _Is this how Baba felt when he saw Mama for the first?_ Claude wonders, before the thought really sinks in. He forces his gaze away from Hilda and spends the rest of the evening steadfastly avoiding her. He dances with Lysithea, then with Ingrid, then Petra. He partners with Flayn for one song while Seteth isn’t looking and even manages to coax a dance out of Marianne.

As the music changes, he sees Hilda glancing towards him, and, panicking, quickly turns to Professor Byleth standing next to him. “Teach!” he says brightly and offers her a hand. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

When the song ends, he doesn’t see Hilda anywhere in the hall, then immediately chides himself for even looking. _She will be your bitterest enemy,_ he reminds himself, not for the first time, and when Sylvain slides up to hand him a glass of mead and tease him about how many ladies he’s danced with, Claude forces a smile on his face.

Ingrid enters their conversation with a tart, “Claude’s a better dance partner than you are, so I don’t know why you’re running your mouth,” directed at Sylvain, causing Claude to genuinely snort into his cup. He’s always liked Ingrid. Her commitment to honor and nobility is far less obnoxious than Lorenz’s, which is an automatic win in his book. Plus, she’s funnier than Lorenz. Another big win.

Claude is happy to chat with Ingrid and Sylvain, and Dorothea too, when she joins them. Their company is easy to enjoy. Then he sees that Hilda has returned to the hall, with Ferdinand in arm. Something about the way she holds onto him makes Claude uneasy. She looks deliriously happy and so, so beautiful, and Claude can’t stand it.

“Oh, shit, are they a thing?” Sylvain asks, following Claude’s gaze.

“How should I know?” says Claude crossly.

Looking surprised by his tone, Sylvain replies, “Well, uh, you and Hilda are…”

“Are what?” Claude snaps. The way he thinks about Hilda is already a complicated knot that he doesn’t know how to untangle without having to deal with anyone else’s assumptions.

“Well, you’re good friends, aren’t you?” asks Dorothea. Her suddenly icy tone tells Claude that she isn’t pleased with the way he’s turned the mood tense. “You only hang out, like, all the time.”

Claude frowns. _Do they?_ He isn’t sure. “Whatever,” he mutters. “I don’t know what’s going on with her and Ferdinand.”

The next morning, he finds out what exactly is going on with Hilda and Ferdinand when he sees them having breakfast together in the dining hall. As he contemplates joining them, Ferdinand leans over and kisses Hilda on the ear. It’s an unmistakably intimate gesture, and Claude would give anything to have not witnessed it. He tries to ignore the weird sinking feeling in his stomach as he goes to sit with Raphael instead.

Their friendship shifts a second time after the Battle for Garreg Mach. As heir to House Riegan, it is up to him to get all of the Golden Deer back to Leicester territory, and as he organizes a train of wagons to run from the monastery to Ordelia, then through Goneril, up to Gloucester, through Riegan, to Derdriu, and finally Edmund, Claude notices that he hasn’t seen Hilda in a while.

He finds her sitting alone outside the dining hall, looking devastated. “You okay, Hil?” he asks and sits down next to her.

“Ferdinand’s going back to Adrestia,” replies Hilda. She looks like she’s fighting hard not to cry, and Claude realizes suddenly that Hilda has just been dumped by her supposed truest love.

He wants to take her in his arms and let her cry into his chest while he strokes her hair and murmurs soft words of comfort into her ear. Instead, he stands up, holds out his hand to her, and says, “We’re figuring out transportation to Leicester. Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” It’s a term of endearment he picked up near the beginning of year, another sign of his inability to hold her at arm’s length like he knows he should.

Smiling weakly, Hilda slips her hand into his and lets him pull her along to the wagons he has organized for their return to the Alliance. “I can’t believe the Empire declared war on the Church of Seiros,” she says. “Claude, what’s going to happen now?”

“You’ll go home to Goneril, and in a few weeks, the Five Great Lords will convene for a roundtable at Derdriu to discuss the Alliance’s response to Adrestia’s actions,” he tells her and helps her up into one of the wagons. She shivers, and he can’t help but to tug a blanket around her shoulders.

When he leans back, Hilda grabs his arm. “I don’t want to go to war,” she whispers hoarsely. “Today _sucked_.”

Claude laughs, not unkindly, and reaches out to tuck a lock of Hilda’s hair behind her ear. “I know,” he says, and before he can really think about it, he presses a quick kiss to her forehead. “But we’ll get through it.”

The journey home goes slowly. Between the students and the various merchants, militia, and other denizens from Leicester, they are spread across six rickety wagons wheeling their way across the northeastern region of the continent. The Golden Deer themselves are split between the first two wagons: Claude, Lysithea, and Leonie in one, and Hilda, Lorenz, Marianne, Ignatz, and Raphael in the other. Claude lets Lysithea fall asleep on his shoulder and thinks about how complicated politics are in Fódlan.

It’s staggering to think that Edelgard has declared war, that Ferdinand has opted to follow her instead of stay with his lover, and that Claude may soon be in charge of the Alliance, depending on how his grandfather’s health holds up. He thinks about the promise he and his classmates had made with Professor Byleth the night before the ball. As Garreg Mach Monastery disappears into the distance behind them, he wonders if they really will be able to return in five years for a reunion.


	7. Chapter 6: Ingrid

Felix is the only person that Ingrid has ever talked to about her solenames outside of her immediate family. Ever since her despairing confession to him on his thirteenth birthday, he’s been her one secret keeper. At first, she staunchly refuses to discuss her solenames with him any further. “It doesn’t matter!” she hisses. “Glenn has my name on his sole, and I’m going to marry him, so what does it matter who I have on my feet?”

Duscur changes everything. Her family retreats to Galatea. Without the promise of her marrying into House Fraldarius, there’s no point in them staying at the court at Fhirdiad. Ingrid feels wretched. Her parents are devastated. Privately, Ingrid isn’t sure who is more upset by Glenn’s death. At her mother’s insistence, she puts away all her normal clothing in favor of black dresses. The performance of mourning only serves to compound her heartbreak.

 _Fate never really intended for us be together, did it?_ she thinks morosely, staring at the names marked on her feet. The fact that neither sole reads _Glenn Mathis Fraldarius_ will torment her forever. _If only I had been given his name,_ she reasons, _then he wouldn’t have died._

Months pass, and Ingrid learns how to live with it. As she comes out of her grief, she finds herself longing for the close friendships she’d had in Fhirdiad with the boys she had met through her betrothal to a boy now dead. She writes to Sylvain first, then to Dimitri, and finally to Felix.

All three boys are quick to reconnect, but it is her correspondence with Felix that Ingrid treasures most. His personality just comes through so clearly in every letter, prickly bits and all. Ingrid loves it. Reading his letters feels almost like being back at court.

For her fourteenth birthday, Ingrid asks her parents if she can visit Fhirdaid. She wants to see her friends again, but to her parents she says, “There are sure to be lots of potential suitors.” She knows that’s what matters to them. It works. The Galateas prepare for a weekend trip to the capital, and Ingrid excitedly writes to her boys to tell them she’ll see them soon.

Upon returning to Fhirdiad, Ingrid is awash with fond memories. She refuses to let any of the sad ones creep up during the two days she has with friends. Sylvain laughs and tugs on her braid and teases her, Dimitri is all polite smiles and fond words, and Felix grumbles but looks secretly pleased to see her again. Ingrid convinces her parents to let her have dinner alone with the three of them that first night, and afterwards the group of friends takes a stroll through the royal gardens as the sun sets. When a rare butterfly crosses their path, Sylvain and Dimitri run ahead to chase it, leaving Ingrid alone with Felix.

“Do you still worry about your solenames?” she asks him quietly.

Felix’s mouth twists. “Yes,” he admits. “I don’t like the implications of either one.”

Ingrid affectionately bumps her shoulder against his. “I’m sorry, Felix,” she tells him.

“What about you?” he asks, eager to turn the attention away from himself. “How do you feel about your solenames now that we’ve learned why… well, you know.”

 _Why Glenn wasn’t one of them,_ finishes Ingrid silently. She sighs. “I still think about them. I don’t recognize one of the names, but the other…” She casts a quick glance around to make sure no one else can hear her when she whispers, “The other name is an Adrestian noble.”

Felix grabs her hand suddenly. “So is of one of mine,” he tells her in a low voice.

“What do you think it means?” asks Ingrid.

“How should I know?” Felix shoots back.

Before they can get any further into the matter, Dimitri and Sylvain return. “We’ll talk more about this later,” Ingrid whispers to Felix.

Felix glares at her in response, but they do end up talking more about it later. They meet up before breakfast, early the next morning, to discuss theories about their solenames. “Which Adrestian noble do you have?” Felix asks her.

“Some von Vestra,” says Ingrid with shrug. “I haven’t done any research on the name, but Marquis Vestra is the Minister of the Imperial Family, I know. What about yours?”

“A member of the imperial family,” replies Felix with a short laugh. “Or least someone from House Hresvelg.”

Ingrid’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I really hope they end being your love. I don’t like the implication of someone from the imperial family being your enemy,” she says nervously.

“Yeah, same, but also my other solename is Gustave Dominic’s daughter,” Felix tells her.

Ingrid winces. “Okay, that’s not a great prospect,” she admits. She rests her chin in her hand and taps the side of her face as she thinks. “Do you really think it’s possible you could end up being enemies with Sir Gustave’s daughter?”

Felix shrugs. “I mean, Gustave seems to have dropped off the face of the planet at some point this past year, so I feel like anything’s possible as far as his family is concerned.”

“Don’t be rude,” chides Ingrid.

Rolling his eyes, Felix turns to conversation back to her. “So, what’s your other solename? You said you didn’t recognize it, but maybe we could them up.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re a commoner. It’s definitely not a noble name. I don’t know what we’d even be able to look up,” says Ingrid, shaking her head.

“Well, we won’t know until we try,” Felix points out. He sounds uncharacteristically reasonable. “What’s the name?”

“It’s... Ashe. Ashe Ubert.” Ingrid can’t help but smile as she says the name.

Felix makes a face. “You’re right, that definitely is a commoner’s name,” he says, then, noticing the soft smile on Ingrid’s face, teases, “I’d forgotten what a romantic you are. Do you spend your days dreaming about them, wondering if this mystery commoner could be your truest love and what they might be like?”

Ingrid immediately stops smiling. She feels that old anger and sadness welling up inside of her. “I haven’t been dreaming about anyone,” she tells Felix. “I’ve been mourning Glenn.”

“I... I didn’t mean—” Felix stammers out, clearly taken aback by the indignant grief in her voice. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Yeah, you never think, do you? You are so callous. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if this type of behavior is why Sir Gustave’s daughter or the Hresvelg whoever ends up hating you!” snaps Ingrid. She knows that she isn’t being fair to Felix, that her pain is making her lash out, but her solenames have always been a source of anguish for her and Felix knows it.

Felix shrinks away from her anger. “Look, I’m sorry,” he says. “I guess I just excited for a moment at the prospect of at least one of us having something to look forward to with our solenames.”

Crossing her arms, Ingrid scowls at him. “What, you’re not excited about your doubly noble solenames?”

“It doesn’t matter to me which one will be my love,” says Felix with a frown. “It only matters which one will be my enemy.”

“Gee, you’re a bundle of sunshine,” Ingrid mutters. She sighs and uncrosses her arms. “Why are you so worried about it? Your bitterest enemy doesn’t _have_ to mean something drastic.”

“But what if it does? Faerghus is politically weak right now. Wouldn’t _you_ be worried, on Dimitri’s behalf?” asks Felix.

Ingrid hadn’t thought about it in that way. “Well, have you talked to Dimitri about it?” she asks. “Because if he doesn’t any Adrestian names on his soles than he’s probably going to be fine and you’re just worrying for no reason.”

Felix gapes at her. “You think I’m gonna break taboo and ask Dimitri about his solenames?” he asks. “I can barely believe that I’m talking to _you_ about it, and that’s only because you started it.” His tone is petulant, and it almost feels as if they are a whole ten years younger than they’re real ages. They used to squabble constantly as children.

“It was just an idea,” says Ingrid, resisting the urge stick her tongue out at him.

“Speaking of ideas, do you want to check out the public records after breakfast?” asks Felix. “See if we could find anything out about this Ashe Ubert person?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “I don’t think we could get around doing that without telling Dimitri and Sylvain what we were up to, and I… you’re right. I don’t think we tell anyone else about this,” she says.

A pleased smile breaks out across Felix’s face, and Ingrid can tell that he is thinking, just as she is: _This will be our secret, our little taboo together._


	8. Chapter 7: Leonie

Both of the names on her feet are girls’ names. It’s never bothered Leonie. Sometimes men love men and women love women, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of, her parents have always assured her. She does, sometimes, worry about her solenames, but not because of their gender. One of the names is an Alliance noble—ominous!—and the other is harder to place, lacking a surname—even more ominous!

When her village scrapes together enough money to send her to Garreg Mach for schooling, Leonie promises to work hard and make them all proud of her. She is nineteen and has had six years to come to terms with the realization that she has no interest in men sexually or romantically. _Really, when it comes down to it, boys are only good for sparring against,_ she had decided not long after receiving her solenames, and the sentiment still holds true.

The feeling is only reinforced by the first person in her house she meets at the Officers’ Academy: the stuffy son of a noble. “I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester,” he tells her, and Leonie thinks, _You’re insufferable is what you are._

But then Lorenz introduces her to Lysithea, and Leonie’s breath catches in her throat. Lysithea looks at her with sharp, appraising eyes. Leonie’s heart feels like it’s melting, soaring, singing. And when Lysithea smiles at her, such a strong sense of _rightness_ washes over Leonie, that she _knows_. She knows without a doubt that Lysithea von Ordelia will be her truest love, and that her other solename belongs to her future enemy.

Lysithea is spunky and hard-working and quick to go on the defense, but she lets her guard down around Leonie. “You feel it too, don’t you?” she asks Leonie one day when the older girl gives her a piggyback ride back to her room.

“That we’re fated?” asks Leonie.

Lysithea presses her cheek against Leonie’s, and Leonie can feel her smile. “I don’t think we’re going to be enemies,” she says softly. “I think I’m going to love you.”

Smiling, Leonie agrees. “I think I’m going to love you too,” she tells Lysithea, then sets the younger girl down upon reaching her room.

“I’m glad it’s you, Leonie,” says Lysithea earnestly. She reaches forward to tangle their fingers together.

Leonie raises their joined hands to her lips and presses a tender kiss to Lysithea’s knuckles. “I’m glad too.”

When everything goes south, Leonie follows Lysithea and fights for House Ordelia along the Adrestian border. Lysithea’s parents take to her immediately. From their over-the-top delight in anything that brings their daughter joy, Leonie can tell that something bad happened to Lysithea as a child, but she isn’t going to push it. She knows Lysithea will tell her when she’s ready.

The war is a painful thing. Ordelia’s proximity to the Empire means that they see a lot of action. At some point, Leonie stops trying of keep track of the number time she is almost killed or how many fellow soldiers she has watched die. Lysithea fights alongside her every step of the way. She is, as always, a terrifyingly powerful wielder of magic. The sight of Lysithea walking back from the battlefield, covered in blood and eyes still blazing with rage, never fails to make Leonie’s heart feel like a thunderstorm in her chest.

After one such return from battle, Lysithea comes to Leonie and asks her to join her in the baths. Leonie follows her. She will always follow Lysithea, she suspects. Everything is quiet in the washroom, and it feels almost peaceful as the two women take turns rinsing the blood out of each other’s hair. Leonie is running her fingers through Lysithea’s silky smooth locks when Lysithea suddenly asks, “Do you love me?”

“Yes.” The answer comes immediately to Leonie’s lips. She doesn’t even have to think about it, so certain she is in her love for Lysithea.

Lysithea sinks lower into the bath until she is below Leonie’s chin, then tilts her head back to look up at her. “I love you too,” she says softly. “Thank you for being here with me.”

Smiling, Leonie leans forward to press a kiss to Lysithea’s forehead. “Of course,” she murmurs.

“Can I kiss you?” asks Lysithea, twisting around in the water to face Leonie fully.

“Yes,” breathes Leonie. “Please.”

Their arms find their way around each other as the two pull close together. Leonie cups Lysithea’s face in her hands and delights in the sensation of kissing her. It doesn’t matter that there’s a war going on or that they are both sore and still partially covered in grime from the day’s battle. All that matters is that they’re together.

Leonie is twenty-two, and Lysithea eighteen, and in another two years, they will make their way back to Garreg Mach Monastery for their promised class reunion.


	9. Chapter 8: Ferdinand

Returning to Adrestia is the hardest thing he’s ever done. But it’s the right thing to do, and so Ferdinand leaves Garreg Mach, turning away from dear sweet Hilda and her entreating suggestion of going with her to Goneril, to make his way back to Enbarr, where he throws himself on Edelgard’s mercy. It is strange to think that his former classmate and forever rival is now his emperor.

Edelgard’s reaction to his return is tumultuous. Initially, she is frigid. Then Hubert asks her if she’d like him to chuck Ferdinand in the dungeons alongside Lady Rhea, and Edelgard loses her cool. She yells at Ferdinand for what feels like hours, berating him for daring to stand with the Knights of Seiros against the Empire. It’s the angriest Ferdinand has ever heard her. He kneels at her feet and hardly dares to look up at her. When he does, her eyes are beyond icy. “You don’t deserve my dungeon,” she spits, then storms out of the room, leaving Hubert and Ferdinand to exchange confused glances.

“So… am I not getting jailed then?” asks Ferdinand.

“You might be getting exiled,” Hubert replies with a shrug. “I’d better double check with Lady Edelgard.”

As it turns out, he is not getting exiled. Instead, Edelgard and Hubert invite him to their war council but take turns keeping a close on eye on him. “You have a decent enough head for tactics. So, _use_ it,” Edelgard commands him, so Ferdinand throws himself into the task of aiding the Empire’s efforts to unite Fódlan.

It is only until a few weeks have passed that he feels emboldened enough to broach the subject of solenames with Edelgard. He finds her alone in her solar one evening and forces himself to say it. “I’m sure you already know this, but… I wanted to tell you,” he begins stumblingly. “You’re… that is to say… I have your name on my sole.”

Turning to look at him, her purple gaze appraising as always, Edelgard replies, “I assumed as much. I have your name as well.”

“Hilda is my other solename,” Ferdinand tells her. “But I left her. For Adrestia.” He pauses, thinks about it, then corrects himself. “I left her for you.”

Edelgard doesn’t react.

 _Don’t you care?_ Ferdinand wants to ask, but he doesn’t dare. “What about you? Who is the other name on your sole?” he asks instead.

Edelgard closes her eyes. She looks impossibly tired. “It’s Dimitri,” she admits quietly, then opens her eyes again to glance sharply at Ferdinand. “Between the two of you, I always figured I’d have to go to war to create the new world I wanted to see.”

Ferdinand dips his head in acknowledgement. “And here we are,” he says, “at war with Faerghus.”

“We are at war with the Church of Seiros,” corrects Edelgard. “Dimitri just happened to side with them.”

“But, so you know now. That we surely will be each other’s love,” Ferdinand says, and Edelgard surprises with him a laugh.

“I find the concept of solenames as useless as that of crests,” she says dismissively. “If you’re going to be the truest love in my life, then you better earn it.”

Smiling despite himself, Ferdinand says, “Okay. I can do that.”

And he does. With all of the fervor he had once put into trying to outdo Edelgard as students, Ferdinand sets forth, determined to prove his worth as a partner and lover to her. He attends every war council and every meeting. He takes notes, suggests new ways of looking at things, volunteers himself to lead every vital mission. He races Hubert to be the first to provide Edelgard with anything she asks for.

“Do you fucking mind?” Hubert eventually demands, having clearly had enough of Ferdinand’s antics. “Stop trying to steal my job!”

“Edelgard and I are fated, so it’s only natural that I should do these things for her,” explains Ferdinand in a condescending voice. “Really, you ought to be fussing over _your_ solename, or do you not know who they are?”

Hubert smiles, and it looks positively chilling. “When Bernadetta returns from her mission to Brigid with Petra, you can rest assured that I most certainly _will_ be fussing over her,” he tells Ferdinand smugly.

“Bernadetta? Bernadetta’s one of your solenames?” asks Ferdinand incredulously. When Hubert nods, he asks, “Are you sure she’s going to be your love? I mean, she’s always been terrified of you! Who’s your other solename?”

“I’m already enemies with my other solename.” Hubert says shortly. “It’s Ingrid Galatea. I look forward to killing her.”

Ferdinand shudders at the other man’s easy bloodlust. Even though he knows Hilda must be the bitterest enemy fate has determined for him, he can’t imagine killing her, let alone looking forward to it. He pushes away the thought, refocusing his efforts to win over Edelgard.

It doesn’t seem to work until one meeting when Edelgard proposes a full-frontal attack on Fhirdiad, and Ferdinand can’t help but to push back at her. “That’s a bad plan. Surely there are some Empire-sympathetic nobles in Faerghus that we could call upon,” he suggests instead. “You know the Kingdom’s political situation has been… tenuous since Lambert’s murder. Maybe we could instigate an internal revolt.”

Edelgard narrows her eyes at him, evaluating his words, then concedes the point. After the meeting ends, she asks Ferdinand to stay behind. When they are alone, she smiles wolfishly at him. “That was excellent, Ferdinand,” she says. “Just what I was waiting for.”

“What do you mean?” asks Ferdinand.

“I don’t want some simpering yes-man,” Edelgard explains and steps closer to him. “I’ve always liked you best when you’re challenging me, helping make me a better version of myself.”

Ferdinand blinks in surprise. _She likes me better when I’m disagreeing with her?_ His mind boggles at the thought. “I, uh… happy to help,” he offers breathlessly.

Edelgard smirks at his flustered state. Stepping even closer, she traps him between her and the table. She leans purposefully into his personal space. “Well?” she asks in a demanding tone. “Are you going to continue being useful?”

It is such a far cry from the way Hilda had approached him barely a year ago, all soft smiles and gentle touches, and Ferdinand finds that he isn’t really sure what exactly Edelgard is asking of him. He closes his hands over hers and says firmly, “I don’t want to play games, Edel. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss me, don’t I?” says Edelgard, her eyes flickering down to Ferdinand’s lips.

So Ferdinand kisses her. It is a small, hesitant kiss as he tests the waters of how much Edelgard actually wants him.

“You can do better than that,” Edelgard murmurs against his lips, but there’s no bite to her words, and he can feel her smiling.

Moving his hands to hold her face, Ferdinand deepens the kiss. _Edelgard smells very nice,_ he thinks dimly as he parts his lips for her probing tongue to swipe commandingly into his mouth. _Even the way she kisses is imperious._ When they break apart, both Edelgard and Ferdinand are out of breath, panting. Admiring the pretty flush of her cheeks, Ferdinand tucks a lock her hair behind her ear.

“Does this mean I’ve earned your love?” he asks.

Edelgard leans forward to kiss his nose, then smiles at him. “You’re getting there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing Ferdinand, Edelgard, and Hubert's hijinks that I almost forgot that uh, this story doesn't end well for them because it's a Blue Lions/Golden Deer combined route fic 😬
> 
> Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff).


	10. Chapter 9: Byleth

Byleth first realizes that she is different as a young teenager. The other mercenaries in her father’s company ask her teasing questions about her solenames and she just stares at them blankly, not understanding. Her father takes her aside one evening to tell her in a low voice that most people receive two names on their feet when they turn thirteen, a blessing from the goddess to tell them who will be the two most important people in their lives.

“But I didn’t receive any names,” says Byleth. _I don’t even know how old I am_ , she thinks, though she gathers that she must be at least over the age of thirteen.

Her father smiles at her, but his eyes look sad. “That’s okay, kid,” he tells her. “I don’t have any solenames either.”

Byleth puts the thought out of mind and easily forgets about the whole concept of solenames until, years later, three teenagers stumble into their camp in the middle of the night persued by bandits. Something aches deep inside of her heart as they ask her father for his aid.

The aching stays with her when they go to Garreg Mach, where Lady Rhea asks her to take charge of one of the three classes of the Officers’ Academy. Byleth takes her time to pick the class she wants to lead, observing all of the students of each house, but even as she analyzes their personalities and weaknesses, she finds herself drawn inexplicably to one of them in particular.

She tries to approach him one evening, thinking maybe she can ask him over dinner how he feels about the idea of her leading his house. The conversation does not go according to plan. Dimitri snaps at her to leave him alone, hostility evident in every inch of his posture. His blue eyes are frighteningly icy as he glares her until she retreats, wondering what she did to make him hate her so.

Byleth picks the Golden Deer.

Claude is friendly, good-natured, easy to talk to. Byleth enjoys working with him. She is genuinely fond of each and every one of the students of the Golden Deer house. Getting to know them, pushing them to be their best – she loves being a teacher as it turns out. It’s a trick getting Hilda to put in the work, but Byleth learns how to get through to her. It’s a different sort of trick to get through to Marianne, but Byleth learns that too.

As things become more and more twisted and complex, Byleth is grateful for the companionship the Golden Deer provide, though a part of her still reflects on how things might have gone had she chosen the Blue Lions like she originally hoped to. _Would Dimitri be this supportive?_ she can’t help but wonder.

Something in her heart hurts when she thinks about the leader of the Blue Lion house. Even now, she longs to sit beside him in deep conversation. She wants to know everything about him, what makes him tick, what makes him smile. She wants to know why he pushed her away so firmly at the beginning of the year.

The girl inside of her head—Sothis—seems equally intrigued by Dimitri. _Do you suppose the sight of you makes his heart ache as well?_ Sothis ponders.

None of it makes sense.

None of it will make sense until Byleth wakes up from a five-year slumber to find a world torn apart by war. It speaks to her commitment to her students that her first thought is panic that she will miss their class reunion. She runs all the way from the village to the monastery and is greeted by Claude for her troubles.

“Teach?” he asks, and she runs to him. They embrace. They delight in seeing each other. They mourn the passing of time and onset of war.

Then they hunt bandits.

As they deal with the bandits lurking in the ruins of the outskirts of Garreg Mach, the rest of the Golden Deer appear. Byleth’s heart soars. It’s a joy to see all of her students alive, and to see the way they’ve grown. Lorenz now wields reason magic as well as his lance. Hilda arrives on a wyvern with an exuberant grin and an explanation of, “Claude taught me some flying tricks.”

Byleth’s elation at being reunited with her students comes crashing down when they tell her about the state of Fódlan. “Dimitri was executed?” she asks, hardly daring to believe her ears. “He’s dead?”

“At least, that’s what the official report is out of Fhirdiad,” replies Claude, ever the optimist.

Byleth wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to grieve for someone who never really let her close enough to know him and now she never will. But she can’t do any of those things, not in front of her students. So she forces down the wellspring of emotions within her and puts her energy towards reassembling what remains of the Knights of Seiros to make a stand against the Empire.

Claude arranges for Judith of Daphnel to bolster their forces with soldiers from the Alliance in a handoff in the Valley of Ailell, and when an Imperial-backed battalion from Faerghus crashes the meeting, Byleth supposes she shouldn’t really be surprised. She is surprised, however, to see Ashe standing with the enemy. Although she didn’t teach his class, she had always gotten along well with the sweet boy, and it makes her sick to realize that she must now face him in battle. She grits her teeth and steps towards him.

When she beckons Marianne to follow her for backup, the blue-haired girl shakes her head frantically. “Professor, I can’t!” she cries. “Ashe was my friend. I can’t!”

Byleth sighs. “You go first then,” she tells Marianne. “Don’t fight him. Talk to him. Convince him to join us. I’ll back you up if you need help.”

“I’m no good with words. I can’t,” protests Marianne.

“You _can_ ,” Byleth insists. “I believe in you.”

Marianne steels herself, then urges her horse forward. “Ashe!” she calls out, voice shaky.

Ashe’s eyes fly wide when he sees her. “Marianne? Oh no.” He immediately begins backing up. “I can’t fight you, Marianne.”

“You don’t have to! You could fight _with_ us instead!” Marianne tells him, and her voice sounds more confident.

“If you don’t agree with Edelgard’s invasion of Faerghus, you don’t have to stand with her,” adds Byleth, drawing up behind Marianne.

“Professor Byleth!” cries Ashe. “You’re alive?” He looks relieved to see her, and it isn’t hard for Byleth and Marianne to coax him into laying down his bow.

After the battle, they return to Garreg Mach and Ashe tells them about the state of affairs in Faerghus. “Most of the western lords defected to the Empire,” he explains. “I didn’t have much of a choice when Rowe gave in.”

“What about your former classmates? What are they up to?” asks Leonie.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any of them in years.” Ashe hangs his head. “After His Highness was executed… I heard Dedue was executed too. The houses of Fraldarius, Gautier, and Galatea all stand against Cornelia and the Empire, but… I couldn’t tell you where Ingrid, Felix, or Sylvain are. I don’t even know if they’re alive.” His voice wavers and he looks so close to brink of tears that Byleth can’t help but to wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“If their families are heading the resistance against the Empire, they might be open to allying with us,” suggests Lorenz.

Claude decides to send a messenger to Duke Rodrigue. As he writes the letter, Lysithea wonders aloud, “With Dimitri dead, who’s the rightful heir to the throne of Faerghus?”

They all turn to look at Ashe, the only person in the room from the Kingdom. “You’re vastly overestimating my knowledge of the intricacies of Faerghus nobility, if you think I know the answer to that question,” he says, shaking his head.

“I hope the Duke agrees to ally with us,” says Claude. “It would certainly make this fight against the Empire much easier.”

Byleth has to agree with him. They need all the friends they can get.


	11. Chapter 10: Sylvain

On Miklan’s thirteenth birthday, the Gautiers learn that something is deeply rotten in their family. Sylvain doesn’t really understand it, or why his parents speak about Miklan in hushed worried voices, until he turns thirteen, looks at his feet, and sees his brother’s name staring back at him. _Well,_ he thinks faintly, _Miklan always was horrible to me._

The horribleness only ratchets up then, as if Sylvain receiving his solenames has given Miklan some form of permission to get nastier. Eventually their parents disown Miklan and banish him from the Gautier holdings, and although it hurts—everything regarding Miklan hurts—Sylvain can’t help but feel relieved to know that in his life, he will face nothing more bitter than what his brother has already put him through.

Or so he thought.

When he’s nineteen, he is called on by Professor Byleth to join her class in hunting down Miklan to retrieve the Lance of Ruin from him. _Bitter really is the right word for it,_ Sylvain thinks as he drives his lance through the body of the demonic beast that was once his older brother. The Golden Deer try to offer him their sympathies, but he doesn’t want it. Even worse, Sir Gilbert, who Sylvain fully recognizes as Gustave Dominic because he’s not an idiot thank you very much, tries to extend his condolences, and Sylvain really doesn’t want that.

He brushes them all off to storm back to his room at the monastery. But even that doesn’t provide him any peace, because Dorothea fucking Arnault is sitting on his bed when he gets there. “How long are you going to try to hide from me?” she asks.

“Not _now_ , Dorothea!” Sylvain snarls.

“Then _when_?” demands Dorothea, getting to her feet.

Sylvain pushes her roughly towards the door. “Literally any other time!” he shouts. “Some time that isn’t right after I just had to kill my own brother!”

Dorothea braces herself in the doorway and with surprising strength, elbows Sylvain off of her. She turns to face him, eyes wide. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I, uh… I should comfort you, right?” she offers awkwardly.

Rubbing his shoulder where she elbowed him, Sylvain glowers at the floor. “You really don’t have to,” he says stiffly.

“But… that’s what solenames do, right?”

Dorothea’s question hangs in the air. It’s the first time either of them has acknowledged their link. Not that he has ever given her much of a chance to; it’s true that he’s been hiding from her. “How can you be sure that we won’t be enemies?” he asks in a low voice. He knows that they won’t be, but does she know? In this moment, he just wants her to go away so he can stew in his bitterness by himself.

“I’ve already faced my enemy,” says Dorothea quietly. “Being a highly desired songstress isn’t all fun and games, you know.”

 _Oh, I’ve gone and been self-centered again, haven’t I?_ Sylvain thinks self-deprecatingly. Aside from Ingrid, he’s never really known how to actually interact with girls beyond sweet-talking them into his bed. It’s part of why he’s been avoiding Dorothea. “I’m sorry for you,” he grits out, not sure what else to say.

Dorothea sighs. “I’m sorry for you too,” she says. “Were you close with your brother?”

Sylvain chokes on a laugh. “Hardly,” he scoffs. “He used to casually try to kill me when we were children.” He pauses, the admits, “He was my other solename.”

“So you know I won’t be your enemy,” says Dorothea softly.

“I guess I do know that,” Sylvain concedes. He tilts his head at her and tries to grin, but it comes out all angry across his face. “Sorry that you got such a fuckup for your true love.”

Dorothea rolls her eyes, but she smiles anyways. “I’m not expecting us to anything special,” she tells him. “Maybe we’ll be great loves in the future, but I don’t actually _need_ anything from you right now.”

The sentiment relieves Sylvain. With that weight off his shoulders, he and Dorothea are able to build a friendship over the course of the next few weeks. He is delighted to find that she is funny, bitingly clever, and just as interested in talking smack about their classmates as he is. The night of the ball, they drink wine and gossip together between dances.

“Claude definitely has feelings for Hilda, right?” asks Sylvain. “Or am I losing it?”

“No, no, you’re so right!” Dorothea replies with a drunken giggle. “The boy was practically _boiling_ with jealousy when he saw her with Ferdie.”

Sylvain laughs because her description is so apt. “I have to admit, I always sort of wondered if Claude and Hilda were gonna couple up. I never would’ve seen her and Ferdinand coming,” he says.

Dorothea smirks and twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. “For all of Ferdie’s faults, he does have his charms,” she admits. “But enough about him. Wanna take bets on other couples that will emerge tonight?”

“Or how about on couples that _won’t_ emerge tonight? Because I’ll bet you anything that Felix won’t be able to find the nerve to tell Annette he likes her even though he’s obviously been pining after her for months now,” counters Sylvain.

“Annette hasn’t noticed? Still?” Dorothea asks incredulously. “Goodness, the poor girl is almost as bad as Linhardt when it comes to being oblivious to love, it seems.” At Sylvain’s questioning look, she clarifies, “Caspar is so embarrassingly head-over-heels for him. He acts out all the time trying to get Lin’s attention.”

Sylvain laughs, and Dorothea laughs with him, and they continue to watch their classmates from their corner of the ballroom. “I think Ingrid might have a secret beau,” Sylvain says suddenly.

“Ingrid? Really?” asks Dorothea, arching an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m not sure. She’s just been so… smiley lately. I don’t know. I’ve just never really seen her act like this before,” muses Sylvain, thinking back to how he had caught Ingrid coming back late from the library the other night, all bright eyes and breathless smiles.

Dorothea casts an eye about for Ingrid. “Well, who has she danced with this evening?” she asks.

“Me, Felix, and Dimitri,” Sylvain lists. “Oh, and Claude. But I doubt it’s any of us.”

“Hmm, well, don’t look now, but she _is_ chatting quite intently with Ashe,” Dorothea tells him.

Laughing, Sylvain shakes his head. “No way. They’re just both really into knights,” he says.

“Are you sure?” asks Dorothea doubtfully.

“Come on, Ashe is like an adorable little kitten. Great to be friends with, sure, but I can’t imagine Ingrid being into him romantically.”

Dorothea hums thoughtfully. “If you say so,” she says, sounding unconvinced. “But they _are_ holding hands.”

“What?” Subtlety be damned, Sylvain whirls around to follow Dorothea’s gaze. And by the goddess, she’s right! In the dim light, over by the snack table, he can see Ingrid and Ashe laughing together with their hands intertwined. “What!”

Dorothea smirks at his flabbergasted tone. “I think it’s cute,” she says.

Once he has picked his jaw back up off the floor, Sylvain asks, “Can we go over there and make fun of them? Please?”

“You’re so mean, Sylvain,” says Dorothea laughingly. “Let them have their time together. Look at how happy Ingrid looks.”

It’s true that Ingrid looks exceedingly happy, her face flushed a pretty shade as Ashe leans to murmur something into her ear, and Sylvain feels jealous. Not of Ashe, but of both of them. He can’t imagine what it would feel like to have a relationship so easy and sweet. As if she can read his mind, Dorothea holds her hand out to him and asks him to dance.

“We are supposedly each other’s true love, after all,” she says with a knowing smile.

“True love, after all,” agrees Sylvain. He accepts her hand, and as he follows her out to the dance floor, he feels something in his chest lighten.


	12. Chapter 11: Hilda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter: character death

The plan to take the Great Bridge of Myrddin worries Hilda. It is their first attack that puts them solidly on the offense, and the decision to be so bold makes her nervous. “Edelgard is relentless,” she had told Claude. “You know she won’t hesitate to crush us if she can.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure that she can’t,” Claude had replied tersely.

So now they are at Myrddin. The air is crisp, the wind biting, as they survey the landscape. As expected, the telltale crimson of Adrestian banners rise on the far side of the bridge.

“Claude and I will lead the main group towards the stronghold,” Byleth tells Hilda, gesturing at a fortress that sits in the middle of the bridge. “I need you head the charge up the northwest branch.”

Hilda nods. She pets the snout of her wyvern comfortingly. “We’ll handle it,” she says confidently. Somehow, over the past few months, she has become a general of the Alliance. If you had told her seventeen-year-old self that she would be an army commander, she wouldn’t have believed you. But now, she flourishes in her role as a wartime leader. She’s good at it.

She waits for Claude and the professor to engage the main arm of the Imperial force, then flies her wyvern to the northwest, backed by Ignatz and Lysithea. “Ignatz! The ballista!” she commands, then continues on with her wyvern. She doesn’t need to wait to see if Ignatz has followed her order. She knows he will.

With Lysithea running along below her, Hilda looks for the gateway along the wall of the bridge. They need to cut off the access point for Imperial reinforcements. When she sees the enemy commanding officer, her heart sinks. She knows that red hair.

Ferdinand.

“Hilda…” Lysithea calls a warning.

“I know. I see him,” Hilda calls back. She drops her wyvern lower in the sky.

Lysithea flexes a gloved hand. “Do you want me to take care of him?” she asks.

Hilda shakes her head, then remembers Lysithea probably can’t see the gesture from the ground. “I can do it. I’ll need you to handle the soldiers around him. You know I can’t do area damage the way you can,” she says.

While Lysithea rains down on the surrounding soldiers alternating blasts of miasma and nosferatu, Hilda flies straight to Ferdinand. As she enters his area of engagement, he looks up, and his face falls. “I had hoped you’d have stayed away from the war,” he says darkly.

“It’s hard to avoid a war when your homeland is being invaded,” returns Hilda angrily. She is so furious, so sad, so heartbroken to see him standing with the Empire. It still hurts, five years later.

Ferdinand shakes his head. “I don’t want to kill you,” he says. “But I will if you don’t stand down.”

“It didn’t have to be like this!” she yells back. “You could’ve come to Goneril with me.”

“Oh, Hilda. No, I couldn’t have.” Ferdinand sounds sad as he levels his javelin at her. His throw is quick, but Hilda is quicker.

She urges her wyvern into a dive to duck his javelin. Then, leaping from the saddle in just the same foolhardy way Claude had once taught her on a lazy afternoon, she strikes hard and fast with her axe. She lands on the cobblestone of the bridge, knocking Ferdinand from his horse, and the sharp edge of her weapon sinks through his armor with sickening ease. He screams—a hair-raising, haunting sound—as she pulls her axe back out of his chest. His blood splatters across her face, and she closes her eyes.

“Ferdinand, I am sorry,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry too,” Ferdinand chokes out, and with his dying breath, he pulls his own axe from his belt and heaves it into her upper thigh.

Hilda bites back a strangled cry as her legs crumple beneath her. A part of brain recognizes the sound of Lysithea screaming her name, then, more distantly, of Claude calling desperately for her too. She’s losing too much blood, too quickly. As she fades out of consciousness, her gaze locks on the clasp holding Ferdinand’s cloak in place. _Oh,_ she thinks dimly. _He kept it._

* * *

She comes to in a medical tent with Marianne hovering anxiously over her. “Oh, Hilda! You had us all so worried!” Marianne cries and throws her arms around her.

Sitting up, Hilda immediately winces at the pain of the effort. Although her leg took the worst of it, her whole body hurts like hell. “What day is it?” she asks blearily.

But Marianne is already turning around to call over her shoulder: “Claude, she’s awake!”

Hilda braces herself for the lecture she is sure will arrive with Claude as her friend and commander strides into the tent. _How could you put yourself within Ferdinand’s striking range?_ she imagines him yelling at her. _You’re a wyvern rider, not a fortress knight, for crying out loud!_ She looks up at him hesitantly, but all she finds in his eyes is deep concern.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he tells her in a low voice, coming to kneel beside her cot.

“You think a single axe blow could take me out?” asks Hilda weakly, trying for a joke. “Ha! I’m stronger than that.”

Claude takes her hand in his and rubs his thumb over hers. “I know, sweetheart,” he says. “You’re very strong. That doesn’t mean I can’t still worry about you.”

His tone makes Hilda blush with its sincerity. “I’m fine, Claude,” she protests.

“I want you on bed rest for the next week,” he tells her.

“What?” Hilda tugs her hand out of his grasp and glares at him. “That’s not necessary!”

Claude frowns. “Neither was your little jumping strike stunt with Ferdinand, yet here we are,” he says, sounding disappointed.

“ _You’re_ the one who taught me that trick!”

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t have!”

As their voices rise, Hilda notices Marianne edging nervously towards the exit. Hilda sighs and rakes a hand through her disgustingly matted hair. “You’re not a healer, Claude. I don’t think it’s up to you to prescribe how long I need to rest in bed,” she says.

“Marianne?” prompts Claude.

Looking unhappy about being dragged into their argument, Marianne says, “You should stay in bed for at least three days, Hilda. I’ll check in with you again then to see how you’re healing.”

Hilda grumbles but agrees to Marianne’s terms. “There. Happy?” she asks Claude with a roll of her eyes.

“Come on, Hil, you’re my number two. You can’t blame me for wanting to keep you in top fighting shape,” he replies, his voice slipping into a teasing lilt.

This is how it always goes when they disagree: first they bicker and fight like fiends, then they immediately return to easy banter filled with fondness.

“Aw, you just love me for my axe,” Hilda teases back.

Claude stands and raises his hand on her head in a gesture that would feel patronizing coming from just about anyone else. “That isn’t true,” he tells. “You’re my best friend. For many other reasons than just your skill with an axe.”

Flushing at his words, Hilda leans into his touch and savors the affection for a moment before lying back down in her cot. “All right, you sweet-talker. You’ve convinced me to take it easy for the next week.”

“I’m glad,” Claude says, then stoops to quickly drop a kiss to her forehead before leaving the medical tent.

Hilda smiles to herself. Her face feels like it’s burning where his lips touched her. The sensation keeps her warm as she rests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more Hilda kills Ferdinand at the Bridge of Myrddin, check out [Love to be Chased](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822132/chapters/49496210) by CDRomelle. It's one of my favorite Hilda/Claude fics!


	13. Chapter 12: Annette

After the onset of war forces them to abandon Garreg Mach Monastery, her father disappears again. _Lady Rhea vanished. Professor Byleth vanished. And my father vanished,_ thinks Annette bitterly. _Again._ And she had gotten so close to him too. It only makes it even harder to swallow.

The ride back north to Faerghus is a quiet one, except for Dimitri’s enraged howling for Edelgard’s head on a pike. The deranged look in his eye makes Annette shudder and turn away. She looks to Mercedes but sees that her best friend is engaged in a deep conversation with Dedue. Privately, Annette suspects the two are sweet on each other. She looks elsewhere for comfort.

Ashe and Ingrid ride alongside each other. Their relationship has been an open secret since the morning after the ball when Sylvain made a scene teasing them about it. Ingrid leans forward on her mount to says something to Ashe in a low voice. Ahead of them, Sylvain rides double on his horse with Dorothea sitting behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Everyone had been surprised by Sylvain grabbing Dorothea’s hand and wildly dragging her along with them when they left Garreg Mach. Perhaps even more surprising was Dorothea’s response, which was to plant a kiss on him, then fervently agree to come along.

 _I’m surrounded by couples,_ Annette thinks morosely, _and also my own solename who will barely acknowledge my existence._ Casting her gaze further up in their little mounted train to Faerghus, she sees Felix snarling some obscenity at Dimitri.

As though he’s been summoned by her thoughts, Felix suddenly sits up straighter on his horse and glances back at her. He snaps one last thing to Dimitri, then rides back to Annette. “How are you holding up?” he asks, brow furrowing with concern.

“Oh, just peachy,” replies Annette sarcastically. “How do you think I’m holding up?”

Felix flinches at her tone. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t sure what else to say.”

Sighing, Annette shifts in her saddle. She’s never been much for riding but knowing it will be a long journey back home under less than ideal circumstances, she’s grateful for the horse. “You’re never sure what to say to me, are you?” she asks pointedly. “That’s why you rarely talk to me, right?”

“No, it’s…” Felix bites his lip. “Maybe I’m going to regret saying this, but… I wasn’t sure which one you were going to be.”

Annette raises her eyebrows at him, and he points at his feet. _Oh!_

“But, well, my other solename is Edelgard, and I think it’s pretty clear now which one _she’s_ going to be, so I guess we’re going to fall in love,” continues Felix, shrugging.

“Wow, this is so romantic, Felix,” deadpans Annette.

Felix flushes. “Don’t get me wrong! I, uh, I’ve always really liked you, Annette,” he stammers. “I just… I didn’t know, so I was nervous about getting too close with you.”

“And yet you still had the audacity to sneakily listen to me singing and mock me for it? I can’t believe my true love is such a villain!” Annette exclaims with a cheeky grin.

“I wasn’t mocking you,” Felix mumbles. “I genuinely liked your songs.”

Annette rolls her eyes. She isn’t sure whether or not to believe him. “Whatever, villain,” she teases.

“Hey, maybe… when we get back to Faerghus, you could come home with me?” asks Felix, blushing furiously. “If you want. Could be nice. I don’t know.”

Annette thinks about her father’s second disappearance. She thinks about going home to her uncle and her mother and that sad, frigid house in Dominic. “I’d like that,” she tells Felix. “Thank you.”

They ride in companionable silence before Felix asks curiously, “So who’s your other solename?”

Annette shrugs. “Some lady named Cornelia something,” she replies. “It’s an Adrestian surname. Arnim? I don’t know. I barely think about it, honestly.”

Felix stops suddenly. “That’s really bad, Annette,” he says in a serious voice.

“Is it?” asks Annette. “Why?”

“Cornelia Arnim is the court mage at Fhirdiad. She’s the one who ended the plague in the 1160s. If _she_ becomes your enemy…” Felix’s voice trails off uncertainly. “That can’t bode well. Do you suppose she’s going to betray the Kingdom?”

Felix is, as it turns out, entirely correct in his supposition. Cornelia betrays the Kingdom and everything goes to shit. With Dimitri imprisoned on the ludicrous charge of murdering his uncle, Lord Rodrigue takes charge of the resistance against Cornelia. But when Rodrigue gets bogged down by a skirmish with Imperial troops and with Annette’s father still nowhere to be found, the task of rescuing Dimitri falls to the Blue Lions.

The only problem is that they can’t agree on the best way to bust Dimitri out of the dungeons at Fhirdiad. Felix and Sylvain, ever allies to each other, are in favor of a stealthy approach in order to avoid any detection, while Dedue and Ingrid, in agreement for the first time ever, want to storm the place, killing anyone who stands in their way. The rest of them are less familiar with the castle at Fhirdiad, if at all, and do their best to stay out of the spat.

“I bet Ashe could easily lockpick his way into the dungeon,” argues Sylvain, jabbing an angry finger at Ingrid.

“Don’t you dare volunteer Ashe for that!” Ingrid snaps back.

Dedue crosses his arms. “Lockpicking is a moot point,” he says firmly, “because we will be rushing the guards.”

“No, the fuck we are not!”

They’ve been going in circles like this for what feels like hours. Annette thinks she doesn’t care so much what the plan is, so long as they have one that she can participate in. She exchanges weary glances with Mercedes and sighs deeply.

Eventually, Ingrid and Dedue accept the sneaking plan, but with the promise that they will be allowed to wreck anyone who they happen to encounter, and finally they are able to work out the rest of the details for how they will break Dimitri out of prison. As the more balanced magic-user between Mercedes’s faith and Dorothea’s reason leanings, Annette is chosen to accompany Dedue and Felix into the castle at Fhirdiad. Sylvain, Ingrid, and Mercedes will wait outside as backup, while Dorothea goes with Ashe to hold Gaspard as a safe haven for them to potentially flee to afterwards. Annette doesn’t like how thin they are spreading themselves, but she doesn’t have any better ideas, so she agrees to the plan.

And it works.

Mostly.

They are running for the castle gates, Dedue dragging a haggard Dimitri along with him, when the sentries spot them. The first arrow hits the ground just beyond Felix. The second clips through Annette’s cloak. Behind them, a door slides open to reveal an impossibly large group of enemy soldiers, armed to the teeth and ready to kill.

Dedue shoves Dimitri at Felix. “Get His Highness to safety. I will hold them off,” he says, then draws his axe and charges the oncoming soldiers. Horrified, Annette watches them fall upon him. She can’t help the scream that escapes her lips when she sees the first sword slice through Dedue’s armor.

“Annette! _Run_!” Felix snarls. “I can’t carry both you and the boar!”

Annette runs. She stays right on Felix’s heels as they slip through the gate to find the outskirt where Mercedes, Ingrid, and Sylvain are waiting for them. Ingrid cries out when she sees Dimitri’s hunched form. Rushing to his side, she takes his weight from Felix and, with Sylvain’s help, brings him to Mercedes for healing before they move out.

As she works on Dimitri, Mercedes scans the group. “Where’s Dedue?” she asks. Felix and Annette exchange uncomfortable glances, but before they can answer, Mercedes asks again, “Where is he?” Her voice raises, though in fear or anger Annette can’t tell.

“He stayed behind to give us the chance to escape,” says Felix quietly.

Mercedes closes her eyes at the news. She finishes healing the gashes along Dimitri’s ribs, then stands up. Her face is an unreadable mess of emotions.

“Mercie, I’m sorry,” Annette whispers. She knows about her friend’s feelings for Dedue.

“I’m going back for him,” announces Mercedes.

Sylvain grabs her arm. “You can’t!” he says. “It’d be suicide.”

“Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain, Mercedes,” Felix says. “We have to go, _now_.”

Mercedes wrenches herself away from Sylvain. “You go,” she says icily. “Dimitri is in a good enough condition to travel. I’ve done my part here. I’m going back for Dedue, and you can’t stop me!” Gathering her skirts in her hands, she makes a break for the castle that Annette, Felix, and Dimitri just escaped. When Ingrid shouts at her to come back, her only response is a warning blast of nosferatu.

Annette makes to run after her, but Felix catches her. “We have to go,” he repeats.

“But, Mercie—”

“She made her choice!” Felix snaps. Despite Annette’s fierce protests, he bundles her up on his horse with him. Around them, Ingrid holds Dimitri with her on her mount while Sylvain ground ties the extra horses on the off chance their companions left behind make it out again before mounting his own horse.

They ride for Gaspard. From her spot tucked between Felix and his saddle, Annette numbly realizes that she’s crying. _Dedue’s gone. Mercie’s gone._ It doesn’t seem real.

When they come to rest for the evening, Felix gingerly helps Annette down from the horse. “Annette… I’m so sorry,” he says softly.

“Mercie can’t be gone,” mumbles Annette. Her whole body feels loose and jelly-like in her shock, and after one step, she collapses into the dirt.

Felix rushes to her aid. “Hey, take it easy,” he murmurs. With gentle hands, he shifts her into a sitting position and settles down next to her. He holds her, strokes her hair, and lets her cry into his shoulder.

While he comforts her, Ingrid and Sylvain maneuver Dimitri the ground beside them. The prince clearly still feels the effects of his time in the dungeons, as he can barely hold himself up and has yet to say anything to anyone. Ingrid sits with him and tries to coax him into drinking some water while Sylvain looks around for some wood to start a campfire.

Annette lets herself cry quietly until she feels she has no more tears left in her. Pressing her face into Felix’s chest, she takes a few calming breathes. _He smells rather nice,_ she thinks. Since their conversation about being solenames, they’ve proceeded with a shy sort of relationship. Though being in his arms is still a new sensation for Annette, she is comforted by his touch. And when he presses his lips to her hair, she feels the tension begin to seep away from her body.

“Where is Dedue?” Dimitri’s raspy voice breaks the fragile peace.

Ingrid heaves a sad and tired sigh. “Your Highness...” she begins, but a flurry of feathers and hooves interrupts her as a pegasus descends from the sky into the middle of their little campsite.

In a matter of seconds, everyone has their weapon drawn. Annette draws upon her last reserves of energy to create a tiny spark that she hurls past the pegasus. “That was a warning shot,” she says with more bravado than she feels.

But it is Dorothea who slides off the back of the pegasus. “It’s me!” she cries, voice ragged from exertion. As she holds up her hands to show that she’s unarmed, Annette can see that she’s trembling.

“Dorothea!” Sylvain drops his lance and rushes immediately to her side. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

She reaches for Sylvian and the two grasp frantically at each other’s hands while she fights to get her breath under control. “The western lords have rolled over for the Empire,” she tells the group. “Gaspard has fallen.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some artwork for this chapter, courtesy of yours truly. If feel so inclined, check it out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1297968575882248192?s=20).
> 
> While deciding on Annette's bitterest enemy, I may have been influenced by the felannie fic [Captivating](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191688/chapters/52981579) by RoseisaRoseisaRose, which features some great mage battles between Annette and Cornelia.


	14. Chapter 13: Edelgard

There’s a certain type of irony in the way the Leicester Alliance has risen in Edelgard’s mind. She had always thought of her fight being primarily with the Church of Seiros, then with the Kingdom of Faerghus. The Alliance had always been a footnote in her war.

Not anymore.

When the news comes of Ferdinand’s death at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Edelgard takes her axe to the grand hall in the palace at Enbarr and smashes all the statues. The marbled figurines are nothing more than monuments to past wars and past leaders of this rotting world, and she hates it all. Once the last statue has been destroyed, she flings her axe to the side, where its blade embeds itself into the wall with a satisfying thud.

She grabs her axe by the handle, pulls it out, and hacks back into the wall with it, again and again, until she no longer has the strength to remove it from the ruined wall. Only then does she allow herself to cry. Dropping to her knees among the broken bits of wood and marble, she covers her face with her hands and sobs.

Hubert finds her like that. Without hesitating, he kneels beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you to bed, Lady Edelgard,” he says softly.

“I asked him not to go!” she cries, thrashing as he half carries her from the hall. “I told him not to!”

But Ferdinand’s fierce refusal to never simply bow to her will was always what had drawn her to him.

_And now he’s dead._

In her dreams that night, Edelgard kills Hilda Goneril a thousand times. It’s not enough. It will never be enough. Nothing will ever bring Ferdinand back.

“Leicester can _burn_ ,” she tells Hubert at her next war council. “I want to see every single one of their generals suffer for what they have done.”

“I will see it done,” says Hubert with a small bow.

“No,” says Edelgard. “ _I_ will see it done.”

She personally leads the Imperial army north towards the Leicester border. Based on the intel from her scouts, she decides to confront the approaching Alliance army at Gronder Field. _It’s always been a strategic location for a big clash,_ she thinks with grim good humor, remembering how once upon a time, five years ago, she had fought her classmates there in a mock battle. The Golden Deer had won then, but she’s determined to triumph this time around.

Shortly before they reach Gronder Field, Hubert comes to her with a message. “Lady Edelgard, there’s been a development you should be made aware of,” he says.

“What is it?” Edelgard’s tone is cutting, but only because she doesn’t want to be distracted from her battle plans.

“There are reports of a third army—well, more of a militia than an army—marching for Gronder,” Hubert tells her. “They fly the blue flag of Faerghus.”

“So some idealistic Kingdom rebels have decided to join the fray. Why should I care?” asks Edelgard impatiently.

Hubert shakes his head. “Our scouts say they are led by none other than the ghost of Dimitri Blaiddyd.”

Edelgard sucks in a sharp breath. “My uncle swore that Cornelia took care of him years ago,” she says, clenching her fists. “Whatever. I’ll deal with them both later. How much will this Faerghus militia affect the battle?”

“It’s hard to say,” replies Hubert. “It won’t be pretty if they join with the Alliance, but if we can keep the two forces apart, we may well still take the day.”

“Then we will keep them apart,” Edelgard decides. _I will not lose again._

While they prepare themselves for the battle, Edelgard keeps her eyes on the horizon. She wants to see exactly when their enemies arrive. She also wants to avoid having to watch Hubert and Bernadetta together. They are so in love, and they still have each other, and it makes Edelgard burn with jealousy and grief.

 _Oh, Ferdinand,_ she thinks not for the first time, _I wish you were here._

But he isn’t. He never will be ever again.

When the Alliance army shows up, Edelgard scans their troops for a telltale shock of pink hair. She wants nothing more than to kill Hilda with her own two hands. Then the militia from the Kingdom shows up, and Edelgard finds herself struck with a feeling of pity.

There are so few of them. They’re too far away for her to recognize any faces, but she can tell from the way they are limping along that they’re in bad shape. _They look about half dead._ She can’t imagine they’ll pose much of a threat.

Still, she doesn’t want to take any chances.

“Hubert!” she calls out, not even bothering to look back over her shoulder at him. “Ready the mages and fire archers.”


	15. Chapter 14: Lysithea

The battle at the Great Bridge of Myrddin leaves their group rattled. The one bright spot was that they had gained a new ally during the commotion that was Hilda fighting her ex-boyfriend to the death. Claude’s reaction to Hilda getting injured was so frantic that almost no one had noticed Dedue quietly slip into the back ranks of their army. But when the battle ends, Lysithea spots the large man awkwardly standing off the side of their war camp.

Utterly shocked to see him, Lysithea does the only thing she can of. “Ashe!” she shouts, dashing around the tents and stockpiles to find the archer from the Kingdom. “Ashe! Ashe! Ashe!”

“Lysithea, is everything okay?” Ashe asks when she finds him.

“Dedue is here!” exclaims Lysithea.

Ashe’s face goes pales. “Like as a ghost?” he asks nervously. “Here to haunt us?”

“Oh no, I didn’t even think about that possibility!” Lysithea clasps her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. She and Ashe stand there making horrified faces at each other, until Leonie shows up and laughs at them.

“I’m pretty sure he’s not a ghost,” says Leonie, sounding amused. “Because he just asked, very politely, for permission to speak with Claude and Byleth. Didn’t seem very ghostlike to me.”

“So Dedue is alive?” asks Ashe, sounding like he can hardly dare to believe it.

Leonie smiles. “Go see for yourself.”

Ashe goes off to look for him, and Lysithea follows, because she doesn’t want to take any chances when it comes to potential ghosts, and she likes Ashe. His particular brand of positive thinking is tempered by realism in way that makes it less obnoxious than the other optimists Lysithea knows. It would be a shame to lose him to a vengeful spirit. They find Dedue waiting respectfully outside of the tent that Claude and the professor use for their war councils.

“Ashe, it is good to see you again,” Dedue says with a small smile.

He and Ashe greet each other with hugs and fond words, and Lysithea feels like maybe she shouldn’t be witnessing such a tender reunion, but she’s not ready to rule out the possibility that Dedue is actually a ghost, so she stays and listens as Ashe asks how Dedue survived his supposed execution.

“Do you remember those soldiers from Duscur that we saved during one of our class expeditions? They repaid their debt by helping me escape from Fhirdiad,” Dedue explains.

“And the mission to rescue Dimitri?” asks Ashe. “What happened?”

Dedue looks troubled. “We got His Highness out of the dungeons, but we were stopped before we could make it out of the castle. I stayed behind to hold off the enemy, while Annette and Felix got out with Dimitri. I had thought they’d all made it to Gaspard.”

Ashe shakes his head. “No, Gaspard was overwhelmed by the Empire. I managed to send Dorothea off by pegasus to warn them not to come,” he tells Dedue, “but that was the last contact I had with any of them.”

“I must hope that they are still alive,” says Dedue solemnly. “They may be in hiding and on the run like I have been for the past four years.”

At this point Lysithea breaks into the conversation. “What’s changed?” she asks. “If you had to be in hiding before, why is it safer now?” She doesn’t mean it in a rude way. She’s genuinely curious.

Dedue turns to her. “The Alliance raised an army against the Empire. I’m here to join your cause. And to make a request of Claude and Professor Byleth.”

“What’s the request?” asks Ashe.

“Fhirdiad is still under Imperial control,” Dedue replies. “I would ask that Claude use his army to liberate the city before marching on Enbarr. It would be a strategic move. The Empire leaches resources from the Kingdom every day, bolstering their army with Kingdom soldiers.”

“And it would give Dimitri a safe home to return to if he’s still alive and on the run,” deduces Lysithea.

Nodding, Dedue admits, “That would also be a benefit.”

Lysithea thinks about it. “I bet you could convince the professor to go for it. She’s always been keen on all of you from Faerghus,” she says. “And Claude is super out of it right not because he’s in tizzy over Hilda being injured.”

“It would be great if we could liberate Fhirdiard,” says Ashe, eyes bright.

Dedue nods again. “It would be,” he agrees.

Most of what Lysithea knows about Fhirdiad is what she’s learned from Lorenz’s stories of his time at the School of Sorcery there. _It would be interesting to see the city,_ she thinks. There are so many things she wants to do and places she wants to see before her time is up, and if she can get some of those things in while doing good in this war, well, that would be all the better.

Before she can articulate any of this, Byleth opens the flap to the tent. “Dedue,” she says with a smile. “It is good to see you.”

“Professor.” Dedue bows to her.

Byleth beckons him in. “Please, just Byleth is fine,” she tells him. “Now, let’s hear your case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea and Ashe deserve to have supports about their shared fear of ghosts.
> 
> Check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff) (I do a fair amount of FE3H fan art too) and send me asks on [tumblr](https://oneletterdiff.tumblr.com/). I'm always happy to chat!
> 
> And if you feel so inclined to tell me what your favorite Sole scenes are, I might illustrate a few :)


	16. Chapter 15: Ingrid

Dimitri drags them to Gronder.

After four years of trying to talk her prince out of doing something that would recklessly endanger all of their lives, Ingrid is just so tired of it all. They pick off Imperial scouting parties and other small groups when they can, but they are only six fugitives barely scraping by. They don’t have the fire power to take on a full army, despite Dimitri’s determination for revenge. He wants to rush off every time they catch news of the Imperial army’s movements, and she, Felix, and Sylvain are always forced to restrain him. It’s exhausting.

So when Dimitri announces his intention to go to Gronder Field to join the larger fight between the Empire and the Alliance, Ingrid finds herself thinking, _Well, this might as well happen at this point._

“Think on the bright side, Griddi,” says Sylvain, using Ingrid’s least favorite of all his nicknames for her. “Maybe we’ll be able to link up with Claude’s army. It’d be nice to have allies again, wouldn’t it?”

“Honestly, I’m worried His Highness might try to fight Claude too,” Ingrid says with a frown. Dimitri hasn’t been right in the head since they busted him out of Fhirdiad, and they all know it.

Privately, Ingrid wonders if any of them are right in the head. All of her companions are gaunt, hollowed shells of their former selves. It’s painful to look at Felix’s broken movements or Sylvain’s dead eyes, or to see Dorothea’s quiet defeat or Annette perpetually on the verge of her fight-or-flight instinct. But even worse is the absence of Mercedes and Dedue and Ashe.

And Ashe Ashe Ashe.

She aches for him. _Was he killed when Gaspard was forced to defect to the Empire? Did he join with the enemy to save his life? If he’s still alive, where he is? Is he safe? Is he happy?_ The questions still run through her mind every night.

It’s hard for her, sometimes, to watch Sylvain with Dorothea or Felix with Annette. They may all be living wretched lives, but at least her two friends have their lovers here with them. Ingrid, meanwhile, gets stuck with the constant duty of keeping an eye on Dimitri. Over the years, she has become an expert on cajoling him into eating, forcing him to get sleep, and talking him down from charging off on suicide mission.

But now they march for Gronder. _And why not? We’ve got nothing left to lose,_ thinks Ingrid.

When they reach the field, Ingrid realizes just how hopelessly outmatched they are. They are six starving renegades, and Edelgard has brought a full army of the finest Adrestian soldiers. She looks at her companions and thinks, _What the fuck are we doing?_ Then she pulls Felix aside and says, “Felix, what the fuck are we doing?”

“Sylvain thinks we can join with the Alliance force,” he replies evenly. His voice doesn’t betray how he feels about it, but Ingrid can tell from the way his fingers twitch over the hilt of his sword that he thinks they’re probably all about to die.

“And if we can’t?” asks Ingrid. “What then?”

Felix gives her a tired smile. “Then we improvise,” he says.

 _What is there to improve?_ Ingrid wonders. _A mad-dash retreat?_

Before she can vocalize the question, their conversation is interrupted by Annette pulling Felix away for one last conversation and kiss before the battle begins. Ingrid can’t blame her. It’s what she would do if Ashe were still with them.

“Look!” Dorothea’s voice catches her attention. “Alliance banners!”

Ingrid follows Dorothea’s pointed finger and sees the billow of golden cloth as the Alliance army assembles on the far side of the field. Alongside the official Leicester insignia is a second banner, bearing the Crest of Flames. “Is that…” Her voice dies in her throat as she ponders its meaning.

Sylvain picks up the question for her. “Is Professor Byleth _alive_?” he asks incredulously.

Dimitri shoulders past him and Ingrid to stare at the banners. “If she lives…” he growls but doesn’t finish his thought. His grip on his lance tightens.

“Your Highness,” begins Ingrid. She is so tired of always being the voice of reason, but still she soldiers on with the obvious statement: “We ought to join forces with them. We’re impossibly outnumbered if we stand alone.”

“I…” Dimitri grimaces and looks down at his hands. He seems to be at war with himself.

Felix tears himself away from Annette long enough to kick a rock towards Dimitri’s feet. “Make a wise decision for once in your life,” he snaps, though he long ago lost any real bite behind his words. “You’re our boar prince. Lead us.”

Nodding, Dimitri straightens his shoulders. “Yes. You are right. Make for the Alliance army. We will join with them,” he commands.

Then the ground in front of them bursts into flames.

Ingrid’s pegasus and Sylvain’s horse both spook, rearing back with frightened whinnies that only serve to reinforce the other’s fear. As they fight to regain control of their mounts, more fire rains down around them. Out of the corner of her eye, Ingrid sees Dorothea and Felix dive to pull Dimitri out of the way of a blazing arrow, while Annette steps forward to call down abraxas on the enemies targeting them.

It is not an auspicious start to the battle. Everything is chaos around Ingrid as she urges her pegasus into the air, dodging spells and arrows until she is high enough to establish a perimeter of the fight. And it’s a messy fight. Ingrid swears under her breath and searches for any sort of opportunity she can turn into an advantage.

“Ingrid!” Sylvain shouts up at her as he engages an Imperial solider with his lance. “We need backup! Get to the Alliance!”

He’s right, she knows. They desperately need the Alliance army to support them, or else they will all die today. She flies north, trying to discern who is with the Empire and who is with the Alliance, but all the smoke and flames makes it hard to tell.

The first person she recognizes is Raphael. The large man looks much the same as he did when they were in school, and it warms Ingrid’s heart for a moment to see him wreaking havoc on the Adrestian soldiers rushing him. Before she can get close enough to ask him for aid, an arrow whizzes past her from behind and comes dangerously close to clipping the left wing of her pegasus.

“That was a warning shot,” a steely voice informs her. “The next one goes through your head.”

Ingrid wheels around to confront her attacker, and—

“Ashe?”

Standing with his bow drawn taut and an arrow pointed at her is none other than the lover she had lost four years ago. When he sees her face, Ashe’s eyes fly wide, and he lowers his bow. “Ingrid?”

The sounds of the battle around them fades to nothingness in Ingrid’s ears as she approaches Ashe. His face is the only thing she can seem to focus on. “You’re alive,” she says weakly, then takes in the golden band on around his arm. “And… with the Alliance?”

“Yes, I—” Ashe begins, but before he can explain anything, an explosion of thunder to his right reminds Ingrid that they are, in fact, still in the middle of a battle. She wants to run to Ashe and hold him and catch up on the missed years, but she can’t. There will be time enough for that after the fight is through.

“We need the Alliance’s help!” blurts Ingrid. She gestures back the way she came. “We’re vastly unnumbered. We need aid.”

Ashe nods. He calls for more Alliance soldiers and tells Ingrid to go ahead. “I’ll back you,” he tells her.

Even though they’ve been separated for so long, even though they now stand with different factions, Ingrid trusts him. She trusts him with her whole life. She trusts him with her prince’s life. She leads him back to the portion of Gronder where her companions are making their stand.

They pull it off. It’s a close call, but they survive the day. From her pegasus, Ingrid can see Edelgard retreating from the field after clashing with Claude and what appears to be their former professor. The battle is won.

Ingrid lands among her friends and the soldiers from Leicester as everyone assesses their injuries. The moment she dismounts, Ashe is at her side. She falls into his arms, and he holds her tightly. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much,” she whispers, tucking her face into his shoulder.

“I missed you too, Ingrid,” Ashe murmurs. He threads his fingers into her hair. “More than you will ever know.”

When Ingrid’s companions notice Ashe, their joy is unbridled. Annette shrieks with delight and runs to embrace him, dragging Felix after her. Felix reluctantly joins the group hug, followed by Sylvain and finally Dorothea. Only Dimitri stands apart, watching the rest of them uncertainly.

Ashe holds his hand out to him. “Your Highness,” he says. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you these past four years.”

“No, I…” Furiously shaking his head, Dimitri flounders for words.

“Where _have_ you been?” asks Felix, not unkindly. “We thought maybe you died.”

“Felix!” Annette squeals and gives her love an aghast look. “Don’t be rude!”

But Ashe laughs, his chest vibrating beneath Ingrid’s head. She thinks she could listen to that all day—that humming proof that he’s alive. To Dimitri, Ashe says, “There is someone else here that I think would be very happy to see you again.”

Before anyone can ask him who he means, the answer appears.

“Dedue!” cries Sylvain happily.

Dimitri looks as dazed as Ingrid feels as Dedue approaches him, but when Dedue bows before him, he shakes head. “You! No, you’re dead. Just another ghost here to haunt me!” he snarls.

Ingrid, well-versed in reading Dimitri, recognizes his delusional panicking and disentangles herself from the group hug to stand beside her prince and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “No, Your Highness,” she tells him gently. “Dedue is no ghost.”

“Your Highness.” Dedue straightens out of his bow and offers his hand to Dimitri. “Allow me to once again act as your sword and shield.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art because I'm a sucker for the Blue Lions having feelings. Give it a like on [twitter](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1299079776288665600?s=20) if you're so inclined.
> 
> This is actually the second time I've written a chapter involving the Battle of Gronder Field from Ingrid's POV. If you enjoyed it, stay tuned for an Ingrid-centric fic that should come out sometime in October ;)


	17. Chapter 16: Mercedes

_Stupid._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, girl._ Mercedes has been in the dungeons at Fhirdiad for three days, and she still can’t stop berating herself. _I should’ve listened to Sylvain when he said it’d be suicide to go back for Dedue._

Not only did she get herself captured almost immediately, but she also hasn’t seen any sign of Dedue. _They must be holding him in a different dungeon_ , she tells herself, refusing to believe that he might be dead.

On the fifth day, she gets a visitor. The man wears a dark cloak and stands silently outside her cell, watching her through the bars, before finally saying only, “Mercedes.”

“Professor Jeritza,” she says, then looks at his face. She thinks deeply. “No,” she corrects herself. “You’re Emile, aren’t you?”

“Sometimes,” he replies cryptically.

Mercedes regards her younger brother with a pitying gaze. “Oh, Emile. What _happened_ to you?” she asks.

“The better question,” says Emile, “is what will happen to you? You’re a traitor to Adrestia, twice over. You and Mother ran years ago, and now you’ve been caught in the treasonous act of freeing an enemy of the highest rank. What do you think will happen when you are brought before the Emperor for your crimes?”

“I suppose I will be executed,” Mercedes answers matter-of-factly.

Emile grasps at the bars of her cell door. “What if I told you there was another option?” he asks. “Haven’t you always wanted to live in a world free from the burden of crests?”

Mercedes looks at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“Crests ruined our lives,” Emile tells her.

 _A true statement,_ Mercedes thinks. Had it not been for their father’s obsession with producing an heir with a crest and nothing else, their family wouldn’t have been broken apart.

“How many other lives do you suppose they’ve ruined?” continues Emile. “How many _more_ will they ruin? But imagine, instead, a world where crests don’t matter. Your life is decided by you, no one else. That is the future the Emperor fights for. You could fight for it too. With me.”

 _With Emile._ It is something Mercedes has wanted for so long. From the moment she fled House Bartels with her mother, all those years ago, she has longed to be reunited with her brother. But… “I cannot fight against my friends,” she says, shaking her head.

Emile’s face contorts. His mouth looks like it’s trying to smile but his brow is furrowed angrily. “You think your friends got away with their idiotic plan to rescue the prince?” he asks. “No, they were captured not long after you were.”

“No… All of them?” asks Mercedes. Her voice quivers.

“They have already been put to the sword,” Emile tells her. “I am sorry, Mercedes. I was only able to convince them to spare you because you are my sister.”

Closing her eyes, Mercedes slowly lowers herself onto the floor. She kneels in her cell, feeling the prickling of the straw floor against her shins, and tries not to picture their blood deaths. Dimitri. Ingrid. Sylvain. Felix. Annette. Dedue. What a waste of life. _May the Goddess watch over their souls,_ she prays, feeling the beginnings of tears pricking in her eyes. _At least Ashe and Dorothea weren’t there._

Emile sighs and says, “They fought bravely.”

“They always were a brave bunch,” agrees Mercedes. She opens her eyes to look at Emile, studying his face in the hopes of finding anything resembling sympathy. _His eyes,_ she thinks. _There is still a certain type of softness to them._ It’s reassuring to see.

“You are powerful wielder of magic,” Emile says and reaches through the bars to hold a hand out to her. “You would be a valuable boon to Adrestia.”

Mercedes thinks about it. With her companions executed, Lady Rhea missing presumed dead, and the Church of Seiros in shambles, who is there left for her stay loyal to? _If I join with Edelgard, perhaps I could have a hand in shaping the way she reforms Fódlan._ And she would be with Emile again. There could be worse options in life.

She places her hand into Emile’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something of a shorter chapter, but an important one. Pretty good timing for everyone asking "But where's Mercedes?" after the last chapter, huh?
> 
> Also, a housekeeping note: I moved some of the relationship tags into background additional tags, because I'm worried about clogging up relationship tags with relationships that aren't as central to the story -- even if they do get POV chapters (sometimes multiple ones) like Ferdinand/Edelgard, Annette/Felix, and others. I still feel like I don't really understand the optimal way to tag stories, especially one with a broad story like this one, but I am trying to be well-intentioned and unconscious in my tagging choices to as to not clog up relationship tags. If you have any feedback on this matter, don't hesitate to let me know! I'm always trying to grow.


	18. Chapter 17: Claude

When Nader bolsters their force with troops from Almyra, Claude watches for Hilda’s reaction. He’d had to surprise Holst into meeting with Nader in order to convince him to let the Almyrans through Fódlan’s Locket, and Claude knows that for all Hilda likes to complain about her brother, they are ultimately cut from the same cloth. The only difference is that Hilda isn’t too keen on surprises.

She doesn’t say anything at first, frowning deeply and looking pointedly not at Claude. Then she flits around the additional battalions from Almyra to chat with the new soldiers. She makes sure that everyone is taken care of and settled, playing the role of a general perfectly. Claude is so proud of her.

That evening, after Claude retires to his room, he is surprised by a knock on his door. “It’s open!” he yells. _Probably Teach with an outline for the upcoming battles_ , he thinks with a grin. The smile drops immediately from his face when Hilda enters. Normally he’d be delighted to see her. He’s just not sure if she’s mad at him right now.

Hilda closes the door behind with her a decisive click, then turns to Claude. Her face betrays nothing of her feelings.

“Hi, Hilda. What can I do for you?” asks Claude nervously.

“You’re Almyran.” It’s not quite a question and it’s not quite an accusation.

Claude winches at her tone. “Half,” he says. “I’m half Almyran. I’m half Riegan too.”

Hilda shakes her head. “But you were born in Almyra,” she says. “Raised there?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?” asks Hilda.

The question surprises him. “Um,” he says stupidly.

Hilda gives him a sour look. “If you were born and raised in Almyra, there’s no way your parents named you Claude von Riegan,” she says. “What’s your real name?”

Claude has always known that Hilda is a lot smarter than she looks, but still he’s taken aback by her quickness here. “It’s Khalid,” he tells her. “Khalid ibn Sanjar.”

“Sit down,” Hilda commands. It’s not her usual playfully bossy voice, but rather a tone that brokers no room for argument. Claude sits on the edge of his bed, wondering where she’s going with this. Hilda lifts her left leg and places her foot in his lap. “Take my boot off.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” says Claude flatly. “Look, I know you have Almyran servants at Goneril, but if you think you can order me around like one, you have another thought coming.” He tries to stand up, but Hilda leans forward, the weight of her heel on his thigh keeping him in place.

“You’re always so quick to assume the worst of me,” she says with a frown. With deft fingers, she undoes the lacing on her boot and slides her foot out. Flexing her toes in his face, she tells him, “You can take my stocking off now.”

And suddenly Claude understands. She intends to have him lay bare her sole. It’s taboo, but Hilda has always broken whatever rules she didn’t care for. “You sure, Hil?” he asks. His mouth feels dry.

Hilda narrows her eyes at him. “Why would I fuck around about this?” she asks in an irritated voice. “ _I’m_ not the one who goes around handing out fake names to my friends. So go ahead. Take off my sock.”

“It was my grandfather’s decision,” Claude tells her, even as he complies with her demands. He slips his fingers underneath the band and tugs her stocking down her leg. “He didn’t want an heir with an Almyran name.” He closes his eyes as her foot comes free of the fabric. He’s not sure if he’s ready to read the name that he logically knows must be on her sole.

“Don’t be a coward, Khalid,” Hilda says, her tone much softer than it had been a moment before.

It is her use of his birth name that convinces him, ultimately. Steeling himself, he opens his eyes. _Khalid ibn Sanjar_ is written across the bottom of Hilda’s left foot in a flowing script. It isn’t a surprise, but the sight of it takes away Claude’s breath anyways.

“Well? That’s you, isn’t it?” demands Hilda.

Claude nods. He tears his eyes away from his name to look up into Hilda’s face, where a storm of emotions is brewing in her pink gaze. “That’s me,” he confirms.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hilda asks despairingly. “Why didn’t you say something when you saw me throwing myself at Ferdinand? Or when I was all heartbroken over him going back to the Empire? Or when you comforted me after I fucking killed him? Everything could’ve been so much easier if you had just _told_ me that we were destined to love each other!”

“Because I didn’t know!” protests Claude. “I thought we were we going to be enemies!”

Hilda rears back as though he had struck her. “You thought we were going to be enemies? Even after you met me? Even after we became friends? You thought I might become your bitterest enemy?” she asks in a hurt voice.

Claude sighs. He wants to hold her, but he’s not sure if she would be okay with him touching her right now. “I knew how Almyra and House Goneril have always been with each other,” he says. “So I didn’t know.”

“But you were always so friendly with me. And kind. Why bother with any of that if you thought we’d come to hate each other?” asks Hilda.

“I couldn’t help myself, could I?” Claude manages a crooked grin.

Hilda smiles weakly. “You’re so corny,” she says, and Claude can tell that she’s fighting hard to keep calm and stay within the familiar lane of teasing each other.

“It’s okay if you’re upset, Hil,” he tells her. “If you want me to give you some distance for a while, I’d understand.”

“You’re my best friend,” Hilda says, her brows furrowing. “The idea of being your love is _amazing_. I just wish you’d said something.”

“I was scared!”

Hilda sits down next to him on his bed. “I know. I get it. But it still stings.” She lays her head against his shoulder.

Tentatively, Claude brings his hand up to touch the back of her head. When she doesn’t flinch away from him, he strokes her hair. “I do love you, you know,” he tells her quietly.

“I know,” Hilda says again. She turns her head to press her face against Claude’s neck. Her breath is warm on his skin as she murmurs, “I love you too.”

Claude’s heart hammers in his chest. He wants nothing more than to kiss her and touch her and show her just how much he loves her. Instead he lets his fingertips ghost across her scalp as he continues to pet her hair. He hums an Almyran folksong under his breath as they sit there like that.

Hilda pulls back to look at him. “After the war,” she tells him. “I know that we’ll be so happy together after the war. But I just _can’t_ right now.”

It hurts to hear, but Claude understands. “It’s a date,” he says and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I got dangerously close to writing a foot fetish scene here, but uh, it was bound to happen eventually what with the whole "names on feet" plot device.
> 
> Come say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff) (18+ please!) or on [tumblr](https://oneletterdiff.tumblr.com/) (which is safe for minors).


	19. Chapter 18: Felix

Integrating into the Alliance army is weird. It’s a luxury to be a part of something real again, to have an actual place to return to, to no longer be on the run. But it’s strange. And it’s hard to adjust to having actual army commanders. Felix has never responded well to authority, and after four years of answering to no one—except occasionally Dimitri when the boar was having one of his more lucid days—it’s a difficult change for him.

With the exception of Dimitri himself, his companions seem to have an easier time of it. _Ingrid always has thrived on structure,_ Felix thinks, watching his friend step into the role of knight with no trouble. _Also, it probably helps that she’s reunited with Ashe._

Annette seems happy too. It warms his heart to see his little battle-worn lover smile more than she has in years. Living on the run was hard on her, he knows. But now they are back at Garreg Mach. Now they are back with old friends and companions. And Annette is laughing again. More than that, she’s singing again.

Felix finds her wandering around the old Officers’ Academy, singing a little ditty under her breath, and he grins like an idiot. Hearing her sing reminds him of happier days, before the war broke out. “Annette,” he calls out to her, and she spins around.

When she sees him, her face breaks out into a smile. “Felix,” she says happily. “Look at what I found earlier!” Taking his hand into hers, she leads him into their old classroom and pulls out one of the books from the shelf in the back of the room.

“What’s this?” asks Felix.

“This is my old textbook. I can’t believe it’s still here,” Annette explains and opens the book, flipping through it to find a certain page. “I used to scribble personal little notes in the margins during the class. I thought you might find it interesting.” Finding what she was looking for, she hands the textbook to him.

Felix takes the book and glances down at it. True to her word, the margins are filled with Annette’s neat handwriting. _“Everyone is so excited for the ball,”_ one note reads. _“Mercie says she’ll style my hair for me, and Ingrid even agreed to let us do her makeup.”_ The next line is scribbled over, but Felix catches his name in the scrawl. “What did this say?” he asks Annette, tapping the line in question.

Annette laugh, and oh, it’s such a beautiful sound. Felix never tires of hearing it. “I had written that I hoped you would ask me to dance at the ball,” she tells him, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “But then I immediately got embarrassed and crossed it out. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I had a crush on you.”

“I wanted to ask you to dance,” remembers Felix.

“So why didn’t you?” Annette asks, taking the textbook back from him.

Rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Felix explains, “I was nervous. I liked you a lot, but I shy. And I still wasn’t sure if you weren’t going to be my love or my enemy.”

“Ah, the age-old quandary of solenames,” says Annette teasingly. She leans over to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Felix catches her face in his hands and deepens the kiss. He can feel Annette smiling against his lip, and his heart feels so full with love for her.

Later in the day, they walk hand-in-hand to the war council in the upper levels of the monastery. Claude and the professor hold one at least twice a week, and as Dimitri has slowly started to recover from the madness he sank into during their four years as fugitives, he has started attending them as well. And if Dimitri is going, then Felix will too. _He may be a boar still, but even so, he’s my prince._ Felix will stand by his side. He doesn’t have to be happy about it, but he will. And with Annette tagging along too, the meeting is almost comfortable.

Byleth and Claude lay out their plan to retake Fhirdiad. Felix can’t believe that Dimitri—or more likely, Dedue—convinced them to divert their attention from Enbarr to focus on liberating the capital of Faerghus first, but he’s glad. He’s worried too. Cornelia is in charge of the Imperial faction holding Fhirdiad, and Felix has never forgotten the fact that she is written on Annette’s sole just the way he is.

Before he sink too far into an endless pit of anxiety and paranoia, Felix is districted by the sound of Dimitri clearing his throat. “I… I have something I’d like to tell everyone,” says the boar. “First, I am eternally grateful to Byleth, and Claude, and the entire Alliance, for their support. It means the world to me that all of you would agree to help free Fhirdiad from Imperial control. I will never forget your generosity.”

Felix bites back a snort at his courteous tone. _You can dress your words up however you like,_ he thinks, _but you’ll always be a beast._

“And I promise that I am committed to your cause as well,” continues Dimitri. “Even after we liberate Fhirdiad, I will march with you to Enbarr. I swear that I will see your justice through. I… I have a confession to make.”

A hushed murmur ripples through the war council. Felix wants to roll his eyes. Instead, he makes do with squeezing Annette’s hand.

“Edelgard is one of my solenames,” says Dimitri softly, and the whole room stops. He sighs, looking unspeakably tired. “I had hoped… I didn’t want to be enemies with her, so I had hoped she would be my love, even though she was my step-sister.” He laughs bitterly. “But I guess she’s my enemy after all.”

The confession makes Felix’s body go icy. When it comes down to it, he is still so fiercely loyal to the boar that they even share a bitterest enemy. Felix is disgusted with himself.

Dimitri is still talking. “So I will not abandon your cause. You have my word,” he says to Claude and the professor.

“Felix, are you okay?” Annette asks in a low voice as the meeting carries on. From her concerned expression, he can tell that she’s picked up on his cagey distress over Dimitri’s announcement.

“It’s nothing,” he whispers back. “Don’t worry about it.” He wants to storm from the room but forces himself wait until the meeting ends to give some bland excuse to Annette and hurry off. He just wants to be alone right now.

He heads immediately to the greenhouse, takes a deep breath, and bellows, “Fuck!”

“Felix?”

He whips around to look for the voice. Behind a particularly overgrown fern he spots Ingrid and Ashe. In his rush, he hadn’t noticed them. From their flushed faces, he gathers they were hoping to catch some time alone together as a couple. _The greenhouse?_ he thinks. _Really?_

“Is everything okay?” Ingrid asks and steps out from behind the fern to approach him. “That was, ah, quite the outburst.”

“Diplomatic as ever, Ingrid,” he replies tartly.

Ashe frowns at him, even as his brow creases with concern. “Was the war council that bad?” he asks. Like many of their former classmates, he hadn’t attended the meeting in favor of participating in one the ones later in the week.

“You! Get out!” snaps Felix. He doesn’t care that he’s being unspeakably rude to a friend he’s only recently reunited with. He just needs to talk to Ingrid alone. _She’ll know what to do. We’ve always discussed matters of our solenames with each other_ , he thinks frantically.

“Felix!” Ingrid admonishes.

He grits his teeth and forces himself to add, “Please.”

Ashe presses a quick kiss to Ingrid’s cheek. “It’s okay, sweetness—” Goddess, Felix wants to barf at the pet name. “—I’ll see you at dinner.”

After Ashe leaves, Ingrid turns to Felix and crosses her arms. “Well?” she asks, sounding unimpressed.

“Edelgard is one of Dimitri’s solenames!” he blurts.

Ingrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “His love?” she asks.

Felix shakes his head. “No. His enemy, he says.”

“But she’s your—”

“Yeah. We share an enemy. What do you think that means?” asks Felix agitatedly.

Looking tired, Ingrid sighs and massages her temples. “Felix, why is this such a big deal? Why does it matter?” she asks.

Felix isn’t sure. He just knows that he’s deeply, deeply unsettled by it. Eventually he manages to spit out, “Why must my fate be so intertwined with that _boar’s_?”

“You were friends once,” Ingrid reminds him in a sad voice. “Back in Fhirdiad… Everything seemed so simple then, didn’t it?”

Felix scowls. He doesn’t like reminiscing on the happy days. It only serves to remind him that they can never return to that. But… “Would you go back in time to then, if you could?” he asks. It’s a question he dwells on more than he would like to admit.

Ingrid’s face pinches. “I… No,” she admits softly. “I wouldn’t. The goddess may damn my soul for feeling this way, but I wouldn’t trade today’s future for the past. Not even… not even for Glenn.”

 _She’s always been the strongest person I know,_ thinks Felix, watching Ingrid fight to keep her emotions in check. He reaches out to pat her arm in an awkward attempt at comfort.

“I don’t want to have this conversation anymore, Felix,” says Ingrid after a moment. “It _hurts_ , and there’s no point to it.”

“I… I’m sorry,” he replies in surprise. In the many years of their friendship, he’s not sure if Ingrid has ever so abruptly and so firmly ended a topic of discussion with him before.

“Yeah, me too. I just don’t get why you’re so shaken about the fact that you and Dimitri share a solename,” Ingrid says tiredly. “I mean, you’ve stayed by his side for the past four years. Of course you still feel loyal to him, no matter what you might try to tell yourself.”

Felix so loathes when Ingrid cuts through his bullshit like that. “Okay,” he mumbles. “You’re not wrong.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I know I’m not,” she says. She moves towards the door of the greenhouse, then pauses. “Anyways you should talk to Annette about this instead of me. She’s worried about you.”

“How would you know that?” asks Felix, just for the shake of being contrarian.

“Because she’s spying into the greenhouse right now,” Ingrid says and pulls open the door to reveal a shame-faced Annette standing on tiptoe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hot fe3h take is that Felix's best friend is Ingrid and vice versa. You constantly find them standing together in the monastery on free days. Also, I think they are generally good foils to each other. If you also wish that there were more fics in the "Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea" tag, you may enjoy [this painting](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1298720006243401732?s=20) I did about them recently.
> 
> As a head's up, I might be reducing the update frequency but a little bit. Stuff is going on, you know how it goes. Thank so you much to everyone who's been commenting - you totally make my day!


	20. Chapter 19: Dorothea

She is the only member of the Alliance army who originally comes from Adrestia. Dorothea tries to not let it bother her, but it’s hard not to hear the whispers that follow her everywhere she goes. When she mentions it to Sylvain, he frowns and says, “They don’t get it because they’re from the Alliance. If they were from the Kingdom, they’d know what it means that you’ve spent the last half decade in service to our prince during the literal worst times of our lives.”

Dorothea laughs. He’s so indignant on her behalf. “Sweet of you to say,” she says and kisses him softly.

Sylvain cuddles up against her. “It’s weird to be marching back to Fhirdiad,” he comments, “and with the army of the Leicester Alliance, no less.”

“Do you think we’ll win?” asks Dorothea. “It’s just… Winning always felt like such an impossibly far away dream, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean. But… yeah. I think we have a shot at winning,” Sylvain replies. There is a low thrumming sort of optimism in his voice.

Dorothea knows it well. _The eternal hope that things will finally fall into place,_ she muses. _But they never do._

Except, now they might.

If they can liberate Fhirdiad… The hardships of the past four years won’t have been for nothing. They will take an important and deliberate step towards ending the Empire’s stranglehold on Fódlan. Dorothea wraps her arms around Sylvain’s neck and murmurs, “When we march on Fhirdiad, you’re not allowed to die, okay?”

“Okay,” agrees Sylvain, laughing. “You’re not allowed to die either, then.”

“It would be a shame after how much we’ve already survived,” she says teasingly.

Sylvain presses her check against hers. “It would be.”

Dorothea sticks close to Sylvain’s side in the battle to liberate Fhirdiad. She stays close to all of her companions who she lived on the run with: Ingrid, Felix, Annette, and Dimitri. It’s a survival habit that she’d be hard-pressed to break. She will never forget their unforgiving years spent together in wild desperation.

She keeps her eye on Dimitri especially. Even though he has seemed much saner, much more in control of himself since joining up with the Alliance army and being reunited with Dedue, she doesn’t fully trust it yet. From the way Felix acts—and has always acted—she can tell she’s not the only one still suspicious of the prince’s good behavior. _Who would’ve thought I’d ever find myself in agreement with Felix Fraldarius?_ she thinks with grim good humor as they break through the walls of Fhirdiad.

Cornelia Arnim is a fierce opponent. She calls forth mechanical giants to set upon them and rains down dark magic in a spray of attacks that scatters their troops. _If I never have to fight another battle again in my life, it’ll be too soon,_ thinks Dorothea as she dashes across the courtyard to shove fucking Lorenz Gloucester out of the way of a blast of luna. She is so, so tired.

But still, there something beautiful in the way everyone has come together to fight for Fhirdiard. Ahead of her, Hilda gives Ashe a boost, propelling him up to the ramparts, Felix uses Aegis to block an arrow meant for Lysithea, and even Dimitri fights back-to-back with Byleth as he cuts his way through the enemy.

Finally, they manage to corner Cornelia before the castle gates. It seems that every archer in the Alliance army has their bow drawn, every mage primed to attack, every weapon pointed at her.

“It’s over, Cornelia!” Dimitri shouts. “Surrender or die.”

Cornelia’s face contorts into a cruel smile. “No, I don’t think it _is_ over,” she tells Dimitri, then yells to some lackey on the other side of the gate: “Bring out the prisoner!”

Dorothea holds her breath as the portcullis slowly raises to reveal a haggard man standing on a gallows with his hands tied and a noose around his neck. An Imperial soldier stands nearby, hand on the lever to hang him. Dorothea studies the prisoner’s face, trying to figure out why he looks familiar.

Then Annette cries out.

“Father!” she screams, stumbling forward even as Felix and Lysithea try to hold her back. “Father, no!”

Dimitri points his lance at Cornelia. “Don’t be foolish,” he growls. “Let Sir Gustave go, and I will be merciful.”

Dorothea shudders to think of what Dimitri’s idea of mercy might be. She’s seen him kill enough times to know that it’s always bloody and gruesome.

That’s when Annette breaks free of Felix and Lysithea’s grasp. With a howl of rage, she hurls a cutting gale at Cornelia, followed closely by abraxas, then finally excalibur. The attack is enough of a surprise that it manages to knock Cornelia down.

“Claude! Get Sir Gilbert!” Byleth shouts in the ensuing chaos, and Claude spurs his wyvern forward towards the gallows.

 _Please let him get there in time,_ prays Dorothea. She can’t bear the thought of any more deaths today, especially not one that she knows would devastate Annette. She’s never understood her friend’s determination to reunite with the father that had abandoned her, but Dorothea knows it’s important to her.

Annette stands over Cornelia. In her hands, she wields an axe that Dorothea suspects she grabbed from a fallen soldier. “You!” she snarls, raising the axe above her head with shaking arms. “You, die now.”

Before Cornelia has the chance to reply, Annette brings the axe down on her neck.


	21. Chapter 20: Dimitri

His coronation is a strange affair. At Sylvain’s insistence, he takes a long bath beforehand, dutifully washing his hair under Dedue’s supervision, then he sits still for Dorothea and Hilda, his self-appointed stylists. Dorothea combs his hair and pins it back while Hilda fusses over the drape of his cloak. It’s kind of embarrassing, but it’s also kind of nice. It reminds Dimitri of being a child. _It feels a little like being loved,_ he muses, his eyes sliding shut as he relishes the sensation of Dorothea’s fingers scraping against his scalp.

A knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. Dimitri opens his eyes. “O-oh, come in!” he calls and sits up straighter in his chair.

Byleth enters the room. “Dimitri.” Her eyes find his face as she addresses him, and she smiles. Feeling warm, Dimitri smiles back at her. “Lord Rodrigue has arrived from Fraldarius,” she tells him. “He brought something special for your coronation.”

“Something special?” asks Dimitri, arching an eyebrow.

“Your father’s lance. Areada—Areab—” Byleth stumbles over the name, then sighs and says, “The relic. He says it’s past time it became yours.”

Dimitri knows it shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s true that he should’ve inherited Areadbhar many years ago, but somehow, he still feels unworthy of it. “Ah, tell Rodrigue thank you from me,” he tells Byleth, “and that I will attend to him once I’m cleared for public appearance.” He directs the last bit towards Dorothea and Hilda, who are putting on the finishing touches on his outfit.

Byleth nods. Before she leaves, she pauses in the doorway and glance back at Dimitri. “You look really good,” she says, and her cheeks flush slightly. “Hilda and Dorothea have done a great job.”

The compliment, which Dimitri knows may well be more of a compliment to the women than to him, settles nicely in his heart—validation that he didn’t realize he craved. “Thank you,” he murmurs, but a moment too late. Byleth has already left the room.

“Well, we do have a wonderful canvas to work with, didn’t we?” Hilda says to Dorothea with a grin.

When Dorothea laughs, Dimitri looks sharply at Hilda. “What do you mean by that?” he asks.

“I mean that you’re a handsome man,” says Hilda gleefully. She taps him condescendingly on the nose. “It’s much easier to make a face that’s already beautiful look good.”

Dimitri flushes. “Oh! I… thank you.” Resisting the urge to sink down his chair in embarrassment, he wonders if Byleth also thinks that he’s handsome.

When Dorothea and Hilda finish their ministrations to his appearance, he meets Rodrigue in the antechamber to the throne room. Rodrigue is looks older and more tired than Dimitri has remembered ever seeing him before. _This war has been hard on everyone,_ he thinks and greets Rodrigue warmly.

As they exchange pleasantries and heart-felt exclamations of joy over each other’s survival, Dimitri’s gaze drifts to where Felix is skulking behind his father. _He has been on edge recently,_ notes Dimitri, _more so than usual._

“Lambert would be so proud of you,” Rodrigue tells him. “ _I’m_ proud of you.”

Dimitri thanks him, basking in the praise, and accepts Areadbhar, before squaring his shoulders to step through the door into the throne room where his coronation ceremony awaits.

It’s a splendid affair—or at least, as splendid as it can be in the middle of a war, in a city that’s only just been liberated from Imperial control. Casting his gaze over all of his companions in attendance, Dimitri pushes back the twin feelings of melancholy— _Where is Mercedes?_ —and rage— _How could Edelgard have done this?_ —to focus on the future he envisions for the Kingdom. _His_ kingdom.

“I will do right by you,” he promises the crowd, and he means it. Once the war is won, he will do everything he can to support the people of Faerghus. He glances at Dedue, standing solemnly in the back of the room, and silently includes the people of Duscur in his promise.

Their time in Fhirdiad draws to an end all too quickly. They must push on with the war effort, after all. They return to Garreg Mach, and Dimitri starts joining Byleth and Claude in their strategy meetings to discuss their next objective: Enbarr.

After one such meeting that runs late into the night, Dimitri walks with Byleth as she heads back to her room. It’s a companionable silence. Over the past couple of months, Dimitri has learned that he quite enjoys her company. She is skilled. Smart. Sharp. It makes Dimitri burn with shame to remember how impolitely he had treated her five years ago.

When they arrive at her room, Dimitri blurts out, “I… owe you an apology.”

“Think nothing of it,” Byleth tells him, shaking her head as she opens her door. Then she smiles at him. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

“That sounds lovely,” replies Dimitri. He can feel his face flushing, though he isn’t quite sure why.

Byleth gestures for him to have a seat on her bed, then brews a pot of chamomile tea with a quiet sort of efficiency. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t stay in Fhirdiad,” she says when she hands him a cup, then sits down next to him. “That must be hard.”

“Ah, it’s not so bad. I’m still fighting for a cause I believe in, after all. That’s worth something. And I’m with good companions. That’s also worth something,” replies Dimitri. Immediately feeling as though he has somehow said too much, he hastily takes a sip of tea and burns his tongue on the hot liquid. “And I know Fhirdiad will be in good hands with Rodrigue and Gustave.”

Byleth blows on her tea before taking a careful sip. Dimitri tries not to look too closely at her lips. “I am so glad Gilbert—or, Gustave, I suppose I should say—is doing okay,” she says. Dimitri makes a noise of agreement, then Byleth continues, “And I am glad that we were able to help you retake Fhirdiad. It was the right thing to do.”

“I am forever in your debt,” Dimitri tells her earnestly.

“Nonsense.” Byleth smiles at him, and Dimitri feels his heart flutter. “It was important to me that we aid you.”

“I’m on your sole, aren’t I?” The question has left his mouth before he has the chance to really think about it. Still, it’s a logical conclusion to draw. He has her name written on his right foot.

Byleth tilts her head at him. “No,” she says simply, and Dimitri feels his world crumble around him.

“Oh.” He feels beyond humiliated for his assumption. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, scrambling up to leave. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Wait.” Byleth stops him with her hand on his forearm. Her eyes are soft. “I… I don’t have any solenames,” she confesses in a low voice.

Dimitri freezes. “I didn’t know that was possible,” he says and sinks back into a sitting position in his shock.

“My father explained the concept to me, but I never received any names on my feet,” explains Byleth. “He said he didn’t either. I’ve never really thought much about it, to be honest.”

“It’s… you’re not supposed to talk about it, usually,” Dimitri says. “About your solenames, I mean, but… how can you not when there’s a war on, you know?”

Byleth looks puzzled but nods anyways. “I have heard murmurs among some of our companions about it,” she says.

Nodding, Dimitri agrees, “Yes, I gather that most people have disregarded the taboo about discussing your solenames because of the war.”

“So tell me about yours,” asks Byleth. Her hand is still on his forearm, but she snatches it back suddenly, adding, “If that’s not too rude of me to ask about.”

 _I would tell you damn near anything you asked of me,_ Dimitri thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he tells her about the friendship he had shared with Edelgard when they were children. “I turned thirteen barely a year after Edelgard had returned to Enbarr,” he explains. “I had been so fond of her. The idea of her becoming my bitterest enemy seemed unthinkable. So I told myself that, even though she was my step-sister, she was going to be my love. I convinced myself that my other solename must be my enemy.”

“Me?” asks Byleth quietly.

Dimitri nods. Of course she was able to put two and two together and figure it out. “So I didn’t want to become close with you when I met you,” he says. “I wanted to hate you. I wanted you to hate me. I wanted us to be enemies, so I wouldn’t have to be enemies with Edelgard.”

Byleth looks sad. “What’s the point of solenames, then?” she asks. “I mean, that must have so hard on you. I just don’t understand the purpose of it.”

“A question for the goddess, I suppose,” muses Dimitri.

“No, I don’t think the goddess is responsible for solenames,” Byleth says. “Actually, I wonder if the goddess is the reason I don’t have any.”

Dimitri can’t hide the surprise from his voice as he asks, “What do you mean?”

The story that comes tumbling from Byleth’s lips is an amazing one. Her brow knits as she tells it to him, looking tired and worried in turn. And at the end of it, the only question Dimitri can think to ask is—

“So when your appearance changed, that was because you… fused with the goddess?”

“It’s fantastical, I know, but it’s the truth. I swear to you,” says Byleth fervently. She trembles slightly.

Dimitri reaches out to steady her with a hand on each shoulder. “I believe you,” he says, then bites his lip and continues, “and, if this isn’t too forward of me to say, I believe that if you had solenames, that I would be one of them.”

Relaxing, Byleth covers Dimitri’s hands with her own, twining their fingers together. “I believe that too,” she says. “I’ve always felt drawn to you. That was why… well, that’s why I originally wanted to lead the Blue Lions.” At Dimitri’s abashed expression, she is quick to add, “But I don’t blame you for acting the way you did, given the information you had.”

“You’re too kind,” says Dimitri. Then he laughs as a thought occurs to him. “Saintlike. One might even say, akin to the goddess herself.”

And when Byleth laughs with him, Dimitri thinks his heart has never felt so warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the pacing of this chapter is a little wonky. My personal life / emotional well-being is something of a mess right now, so I wrote it in many different sittings.


	22. Chapter 21: Linhardt

Fort Merceus has been far too quiet for a stronghold of its size. It makes Linhardt uneasy. The news in and out of the fort about the rest of the war has been few and far between, and quite frankly, Linhardt has his suspicions. _It must be intentional,_ he muses. He’s pretty sure he knows the reason why.

Mercedes walks the halls of Fort Merceus like a ghost. It is no secret that although she joined up with the Imperial army long ago, she still harbors a grief-stricken sort of loyalty to Dimitri, executed four years back, and is sympathetic to the Faerghus cause. _Edelgard doesn’t want to give her any excuse to flip sides again,_ reasons Linhardt. It’s what he would do were he in the emperor’s position.

When they finally do see action, it is in the form of the Alliance army sneaking in, joined by what appears to be a battalion of elite Almyran warriors. _I have_ got _to know the story there,_ thinks Linhardt as he reluctantly prepares himself for battle.

Caspar, predictably, is chomping at the bit to get into the fight. “Bring it on!” he yells across the ramparts.

Linhardt would smack him if he didn’t know by now that it would achieve nothing. Instead, he turns to descend the nearby stairwell. “Come on,” he says to Caspar. “Let’s get closer.”

In the stairwell, they bump into Mercedes. “Goodness, what’s going on?” she asks.

“It’s the Alliance!” Caspar tells her brightly.

Mercedes frowns. “Oh dear,” she murmurs, eyes downcast. “I hope we don’t have to fight anyone we know.”

 _It’s an unfortunate state of being,_ Linhardt silently agrees. He finds the prospect of facing off against former classmates and friends to be a rotten one. _But what choice do we have?_

Their commander at Merceus is the Death Knight, who is really Professor Jeritza, who apparently is really Mercedes’ younger brother Emile. Linhardt still doesn’t fully understand the man, but he certainly explains why Mercedes was so willing to align herself with Adrestia after Dimitri’s execution.

The Death Knight directs them to strategic areas of the fort to mount their defense against the Alliance. Linhardt is careful to keep close to Caspar. He has no intention of losing his lover today, even if the odds are against them as he fears they might be.

 _Battle is so messy,_ thinks Linhardt with distaste, as the fight rages around him.

His perception of the battle—no, of the whole war—shifts the moment he catches sight of a tightly knit group of enemy soldiers cutting their way through the fight. Because Linhardt recognizes them. And from the tiny gasp he hears from somewhere to his left, he knows that Mercedes does too.

Dimitri Blaiddyd and the rest of the Blue Lions.

_Oh? So they’re alive after all?_

Mercedes dashes past Linhardt before he has the chance to try to stop her. As she runs, she hikes her skirts into one hand and cries out for her lost companions, suddenly found again. “Dedue!” she calls. “You’re alive! It’s me! It’s Mercedes!”

The shock of it all is enough to give even Caspar pause. “Um,” he says. “So… now what?”

“I’m not sure,” admits Linhardt. “The war is certainly going quite differently from what we were led to believe.” The realization makes him immediately suspicious of every order they’ve received from Enbarr. _What is Edelgard doing?_

Of course, the middle of a battle isn’t really the time or place for deep contemplation, Linhardt concludes as an enemy soldier tackles him. Before he has the chance to fully assess the situation, the soldier’s hands find his shoulders and shake him vigorously. _How… unexpected,_ Linhardt thinks, as a familiar face comes into view. _Leonie?_

The redhaired woman from Leicester continues to shake him, yelling as she does. “Linhardt von Hevring, are you really going to stand with the Empire’s hellish conquest?!”

It feels strangely like being chided by a mother, or maybe an older sister. “I, uh, please stop shaking me,” Linhardt manages to choke out, feeling genuinely queasy.

“Oops!” Leonie immediately stops shaking him, but keeps her hands firmly on his shoulder.

“What is happening?” asks Linhardt weakly.

Leonie grins, and the smile is ferocious on her face. “We’re taking over Fort Merceus is what’s happening,” she tells him with a dark cheeriness.

Behind her, Lysithea appears, holding the reins of a charger. “Have you ever considered not leaping off your horse mid-battle?” she asks Leonie tartly.

“Where’s Caspar?” Linhardt asks, struggling to wrench himself out of Leonie’s grasp as he looks for his lover. “He was next to me!”

“Do not worry. He is quite all right,” a calm voice assures him, and Linhardt follows the sound to see Dedue Molinaro with Mercedes tucked into one arm and Caspar folded under the other.

Despite the gravity of the situation, the sight of Caspar dangling from Dedue’s grip like a petulant child makes Linhardt smile. The surrealness of the moment is only buoyed by Caspar grinning and waving at him. “Heyyyyy, Lin.”

 _We’re a pitiful arm of the Empire,_ thinks Linhardt with grim good humor, _immediately caving to the enemy._ Still, he can’t deny that he feels an intense relief at not having to fight his old friends from Garreg Mach. His ease is cut short by one Felix Fraldarius pulling Leonie off of him and pointing his sword at his throat.

“Surrender, or your life is forfeit,” hisses Felix, eyes narrowed.

Linhardt huffs. “I surrender,” he tells Felix as ungraciously as he can manage. He has never gotten along with Felix, even though he’s always been intrigued by his major crest. _He’s just a little too prickly,_ he thinks, then eyes the blade at his throat uncomfortably, _and stabby._

“Merceus is all but secured,” Hilda tells the group as she drops out of the sky on a wyvern. “Claude and the professor are dispatching the Death Knight right now.”

“Emile!” gasps Mercedes, pulling away from Dedue.

“Emile?” Hilda asks, but Mercedes is already gone, racing up the ramparts to find her brother with Dedue is hot on her heels.

Linhardt watches them go, then turns to Felix with a lazy smile. “So what’s up with that?” he asks.

Felix gives him a disgusted look. “Why are you asking me?” he grumbles, his sword still half-heartedly directed towards Linhardt.

“I’m so glad Mercie’s alive,” says Annette, appearing out of nowhere to rest her chin against Felix’s arm. To Linhardt, she adds, “I’m pretty sure she and Dedue have both been pining after each other while assuming the other is dead for, like, four or five years now.”

“The Death Knight is her brother,” replies Linhardt, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“No!” Annette gasps, clearly shocked. “Really? How?”

Before Linhardt can explain any further, a loud crash interrupts their conversation as a large white wyvern lands next to them. Linhardt glances up at the rider, and, “Oh, hey, Claude.”

“We have to go,” orders Claude frantically. “Now!”

Byleth, who looks just the same as she did when Linhardt last saw her five years ago, descends from a nearby staircase. “We need to evacuate the fort,” she tells everyone.

Behind her, Dedue supports a faint-looking Mercedes. “He warned us,” she says tearfully. “Even in his dying breath, Emile warned us.”

“Warned us about _what_?” demands Linhardt. He hates mysteries. He grabs Caspar’s hand and tugs him along with him as they push towards the gates of the fort with the rest of the Alliance army that Linhardt realizes they’ve sort of accidentally joined.

“Less talking, faster moving!” Leonie snaps and aims a kick at Linhardt’s rear.

Linhardt stumbles a little but picks up his pace. He still doesn’t understand the urgency of their evacuation. _What could on earth be happening?_ he wonders.

The first javelin of light hits Merceus just as they clear the gate, which answers that question, but simultaneously opens the door to a hundred more. Caspar voices one of those questions aloud, with a quietly whispered, “What the fuck?”

Then the second javelin strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being such a comedic chapter, despite the drama of the events it covers. Such is the way it goes when you pick Linhardt for the POV character.
> 
> A couple of housekeeping notes: (1) Can you tell I have a lot of anxiety about tagging things correctly on AO3? I will mostly being leaving the tags alone the way they are until I've finished the fic, then I will reassess and edit the tags to properly reflect the story. (2) I have no promises for how quickly I'll be able to get the next few chapters out. I have a few other fan projects to finish by specific deadlines, including an upcoming fic for next month's Ingrid Rarepair week that I am extremely excited about. But I'm also in a funky headspace right now, because -- full disclosure -- a friend of mine recently passed away. So I really can't determine how long it will take me to finish this story, but I will definitely complete it, even if the update pace is much slower than it was when I first began posting. Big big thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. Your comments really make my day <3
> 
> As always, come say hi to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff) (18+) or [tumblr](https://oneletterdiff.tumblr.com/) (safe for minors).


	23. Chapter 22: Dedue

As they march to Enbarr, Dedue keeps one eye on Dimitri and one eye on Mercedes. He refuses to let either of them put themselves into any unnecessary danger. After the years apart, he will do anything to ensure more time together in the future. _I will not let this war take either of their lives,_ he swears silently. _Not now._

They are so close to their goal.

Byleth sticks close to Dimitri, and Dedue can tell from the way they look at each other that a sort of love has bloomed between them. _She will keep him alive, if I cannot,_ thinks Dedue with some comfort.

He is less comforted by the decision to accept Caspar and Linhardt into their ranks. But Dimitri, determined to atone for his previous bloodlust, wants to bridge the difference between their force and the Empire – a decision that Claude agrees with. The leader of the Alliance waxes poetic about finding common ground with your enemies, and Dimitri nods emphatically.

Still, Dedue is wary of the two turncoats and advises Mercedes to avoid being alone with either of them, but Mercedes just laughs, not unkindly. “Have you already forgotten that I served with them at Fort Merceus?” she asks and takes his hands in hers. “They are not the only Adrestians in this army.”

“I just want you to be careful,” Dedue tells her softly, pulling her closer for a tight embrace. “I cannot bear to lose you again.”

Turning her head, Mercedes presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. “You won’t,” she promises.

Dedue wants to believe her. But they are at war, and nothing is set in stone. It is not enough for Mercedes’s name to be engraved on his foot; he needs to have her engraved into the rest of his life. _Please,_ he prays to the gods above, _let us get through this alive._

In Enbarr, they find Hubert leading the Imperial troops against them. It makes Dedue nervous to see that the Emperor’s second-in-command isn’t waiting inside the palace with Edelgard. If it were the Kingdom making their final stand against an invading force, Dedue wouldn’t leave Dimitri’s side, not for a second. The purposeful separation makes him wonder just what they’re planning.

Beside him, Ingrid mounts her pegasus and levels her lance with a look of grim determination. “Hubert’s mine,” she announces in a tone that brokers no room for argument.

“Make him pay, Ingrid,” replies Felix viciously.

It is clear that none of them are willing to forgive Hubert’s role in Edelgard’s war—a war that forced them into brutal hardship for half a decade. Dedue doesn’t feel kindly towards Hubert either, but he is still surprised by Ingrid, who has always been so honor-bound, casually declaring her intention to kill the man.

Ashe reaches up to brush a hand over Ingrid’s. “Stay safe, sweetness,” he tells her, his soft words a strange counterpoint to the harsh look on her face.

At the term of endearment, Dedue’s gaze slides to Mercedes. She smiles at him, but her brow is creased with worry. _Stay safe, my love,_ she mouths, and Dedue feels his chest warm with affection.

They’ve never spoken of the divine blessing tying their fates together. They’ve never needed to. One look at Mercedes’s tender expression and Dedue knows that she knows and that she knows that he knows that they belong to each other.

The battle through Enbarr goes better than Dedue expects. The combined forces of Faerghus, the Alliance, and the Church of Seiros are a formidable trifecta to contend with, certainly more than the Empire bargained for. Dedue sticks with a battalion of other armored units as they work their way towards the gates of palace, but he keeps one eye out for the rest of his friends spread across the city.

Ingrid, true to her word, heads directly for Hubert. The white wings of her pegasus cast a dark shadow on the cobblestone streets as she flies for the man. “Hubert! This ends today!” she calls and sweeps her lance into an aggressive posture.

“Ingrid Galatea,” replies Hubert, voice even, eyes cold. “So. It has come to be.”

The fight hardly feels fair to Dedue. Ingrid is surrounded by her allies and friends backing her up as she faces down Hubert. The raven-haired man has no one. Sure, there are Imperial troops spread across the city, but they aren’t his companions. _Would anyone here take a killing blow aimed at Hubert?_ Dedue wonders. He knows that there are many in their company who wouldn’t hesitate to save each other at the cost of their own lives.

When Hubert hits Ingrid’s shoulder with a blast of mire, she stumbles but doesn’t relent in her attack. Ashe sends an arrow flying in Hubert’s direction, but he’s too far away for it to hit its mark. Dedue flinches when Hubert strikes Ingrid a second time. Across the city, his king howls for Ingrid, and Dedue has to fight back the urge to charge Hubert when he knows that his magic resistance is too low for that to turn out well.

 _You can do this, Ingrid,_ he thinks. Hopes. Prays.

And then finally, Ingrid gets close enough to strike. “It’s over, Hubert!” she spits. She thrusts forward, catching Hubert’s hip with her lance. With a cry, she rips her blade up through his torso. “This ends now!”

Dedue has to look away from the sight of Hubert’s blood splattering against Ingrid’s armor. As the man dies, one last spark of magic leaps from his fingertips to go skittering across the sky. It reminds Dedue of a lightning strike, an ominous image but one that doesn’t last.

 _He died for Edelgard,_ thinks Dedue, and well, he can relate to that steadfast loyalty.

Gasping, Ingrid props herself up with her lance, pressing one hand against her shoulder to staunch the bleeding. She leans heavily on the weapon until Marianne reaches her, hands blazing with healing magic. Ashe and Felix are right behind her, and Dedue knows that Ingrid is in good hands. Among friends.

Mercedes appears at his side. Her eyes are bright but her mouth is set in a hard line. “The city is won,” she says softly.

Dedue nods, claps her hand in his. “On to the palace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, it's been a while, huh? Sorry that this took so long. Real life shit happened, and then other fandom projects happened, and then the momentum I had on this story really got lost. The rest of the chapters will likely be more or less chronological as we get to the Edelgard → TWSITD → Nemesis showdown. (Side note: ugh, writing action is really hard for me, so these chapters might take a while.)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting. Wishing you all a Happy New Year and a better 2021!


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